BLACK LAGOON
by Miko2660
Summary: Slash VHC. Van Helsing, Carl and Jinette battle the Creature from the Black Lagoon. BETA and invaluable co-conspirator: Shoshone. Rated M for some violence and slash content.
1. Chapter 1

Rating: PG13

Pairing: Carl/Gabriel

Dedicated to: Kydasam and to my wonderful beloved beta Shoshone

Special thanks to Archangel Gabriel, the patron saint of the written word.

Warning: This is a slash story, hopefully a good one.

Disclaimer:Van Helsing, Carl, and Jinette belong to Mr. Sommers. I do not own nor did I originate the Creature. The plot, blood, sweat and tears are mine and Shoshone's. No profit has been made from this fictional work.

**Feedback: I hope that you find this story enjoyable. Any suggestions or critiques that would make it better would be gratefully accepted.**

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**Prologue:**

_The night sky above him was sable, strewn with the blood red sparks of his campfire. It was a pretty sight and he allowed himself to meditate upon it thoughtfully. Tomorrow, he would be back in Rome, another mission behind him, another soul to add to the scales of right versus wrong. Did ridding the world of the monster entitle him to deprive it of the man? He had never found an answer to that question. Of late, he'd stopped asking it, even of himself. That part of himself was pushed out of sight, and it helped a little, but in the long run it left him feeling cut adrift._

_It was one year to the day since Transylvania. Since Anna's death by his hand. He thought about her often, reliving their conversations in his mind brought him some peace, though he worried as time eroded her image and the soft accents of her speech. Sometimes, he was certain the memories he carried were so flawed as to be meaningless—then he found comfort in seeking out the one person who shared those memories with him. _

_A smile plucked at Van Helsing's lips as Carl's face appeared among the sparks above him. The friar was his touchstone, someone who, welcome or not, insisted upon exploring and discussing his memories. Carl appeared, if possible, even more determined to recover Van Helsing's lost memories than the hunter himself. Their return trip from Transylvania had featured many conversations about memories with Carl digging assiduously and Van Helsing attempting to fend him off. Looking back upon that journey together, the hunter admitted to himself he'd been grateful. He had enjoyed those conversations. He missed them now. He missed Carl._

_Tomorrow he would be in Rome. Tomorrow, he would find Carl, and they would have more frustrating, prying, caring conversations, and he would feel at last as if he'd truly found his way home._

* * *

**BLACK LAGOON-1**

Cardinal Jinette sighed as he surveyed the sunny spread of the Palace's rear gardens through the large-paned windows of his office. Normally, he quite enjoyed the view. The rear gardens were known for their emerald green lawns and mirrored reflective pools. Crushed stone walkways meandered through large stands of colorful flowers interspersed with stone benches poised to offer melancholy views of fountain grass as it swayed along the banks of the ponds. The cool water beckoned those who idled by the benches to dip their toes, sending wonderful chills up the spine on sultry summer days. Jinette himself had enjoyed this guilty pleasure on more than one occasion.

Now, as he looked out over the gardens, he noted the sheen and shimmer of heat rising from the benches. On the hottest or more frigid days, the seats remained empty, their human occupants retreating within four walls and manmade comfort, surrendering the paths to their more natural inhabitants: squirrels, rabbits, and the occasional fox or ferret. And the shy avian community could carry on their busy lives undisturbed, free from the curious invasion of man. That was the way it had always been for hundreds of years, man and nature observing an equitable balance. It was a peaceful thought.

Jinette's musings were interrupted by a soft differential knock at the closed door of his office before it creaked open.

"Um…Sir?" The apologetic call was almost a whisper. His newly appointed secretary, Brother Andrew; he was a good soul, but a tad overawed by his post. Of course that was to be expected at first, and in time, he would grow accustomed to Jinette's ways and would feel more at ease. In the meantime, though, Jinette would just have to deal with feeling like the three-headed beast that dwelt in a cave whenever the good Brother came calling.

"Good Morning, Brother Andrew," Jinette smiled with a bit of a stretch, and then mentally sighed as the Brother blinked at him with the wary gaze of a cornered mouse. The younger man sported a mop of vivid red hair that might have hinted at a volatile temper, however, Jinette had long ago learned that his red hair was the only 'volatile' thing about the man. In the bright midday light, he could see the nervous pulse of the Brother's heart pounding at the side of his pale outstretched neck. Best to get this over with, before the Brother's heart gave way. "Is there something you wish?"

The Brother blinked at him, apparently perplexed by the question. In the dim light, his blue eyes were so pale as to seem almost colorless, leaving only two large black pupils suspended in a sea of white. It gave him the look of a perpetually startled rodent. "Oh! Ah, you have a visitor?"

"Please show him in."

"Oh. Really? Ah! Yesyes, of course!" Ducking out with speed, the dark panel of the door closed after the Brother with a decided click.

Jinette eyed the door, mentally counting to himself as seconds went by, turning into a moment, then two…. In his mind's eye he could imagine his timid secretary facing his visitor, working up the courage to ask the man to follow him into the dreaded inner sanctums.

Abruptly, the door flew open and a voluably protesting Brother Andrew was propelled into the room followed almost immediately by Jinette's visitor.

"Your Grace," Van Helsing inclined his head to Jinette, then ruined the effect with an ear-to-ear smirk as he straightened. "You summoned me?"

Brother Andrew made a sound like a chicken being strangled and rushed from the room, being sure to close the door with a grateful thump.

Van Helsing's hazel eyes sparkled with mischievous humor as they turned from the closed door to Jinette. "I like your new secretary."

"I have no doubt you do," Jinette countered dryly. "In the future, try to curb your natural urge to torture him, won't you? I need a secretary and cannot afford your scaring this one off."

"Couldn't you find someone with a little more backbone?"

"Brother Andrew's backbone is adequate. He needs time to adjust to his duties. And do not change the subject. You will curb yourself?"

"Hmph. You make me sound like I pee on the carpets," the hunter grunted; then, seeing Jinette's frown deepen, raised both hands in a propitiating gesture. "Alright, I'll be good."

Jinette snorted dubiously as he turned away to seat himself stiffly in one of the two wing-backed leather chairs drawn up to the windows. "No. You will not be good. You are never good. But a little self-restraint would be appreciated." With a shake of his head, he gestured the hunter to the other chair facing his own, and waited for Van Helsing to make himself comfortable. Then, when he had the hunter's attention, he allowed a solicitous smile to cross his lips. "I have a new mission for you. You have had a week to recuperate since your last, are you sufficiently recovered?"

"I'm fine," replied the other, frowning; he had known the man before him for many years. Cardinal Jinette was not a man to be overly concerned with his hunters' physical state--his pleasant question was more worrisome than reassuring."Where am I going?"

Jinette nodded, apparently unsurprised by Van Helsing's unflattering suspicions. Considering what he would be asking of him, he could hardly blame the man. "You will be going far afield this time. To the Amazon."

Van Helsing raised an eyebrow. "The Amazon! Besides sunstroke, what am I looking for there?"

Jinette's smile curled into a smirk as he patted the hunter's knee in token commiseration. "We have received reports of a monster there whose origin is unknown to us. It apparently has two arms and two legs like a man, but lives underwater. It can, however, surface for extended periods and walk as a man does—it is during these times that it wreaks havoc upon the small mission in the vicinity.

"A mission? How long have they been there?"

"Not long. The mission was established for research purposes. You will not need to know more than that about the work being done there…except, perhaps, to know that somehow, in their research of the area, they disturbed the creature and are now suffering the consequences."

Van Helsing's eyes narrowed as he considered what he knew of the mission, and more importantly, what he was not being told. From past experience, he'd learned to accept these bland denials but he'd never managed to halt the niggle of irritation they caused.

Sitting quietly, his grey knowing eyes fixed upon the hunter, Jinette waited with the patience of one who knew Van Helsing's every unvoiced thought. In the direct light of midday, Jinette appeared a relatively harmless man facing mid-life. Sometime, in his 60-some years of life, he'd learned to hide his true thoughts and feelings, allowing them to surface only when he chose. Still, despite decades spent in the more cosmopolitan environs of Rome, Jinette still retained the thick rolling accents of his native village in the south of Italy. The presence of his accent, stubbornly marking him as a true son of Italy with all the fierce pride and passion of that land, was something Van Helsing was glad for. It was a chink in near perfect armor and Van Helsing was a man who had learned in the last four years of service to the Order to prize even the smallest insights.

As for the mission, he would have to make do with what information he was given. It had always been that way—Jinette, he was sure, knew a great deal that Van Helsing would have liked to know. A great deal that he would never chose to share until it suited his purposes. He was well versed in the Cardinal's non-verbal signals and Jinette was making it quite clear he'd given Van Helsing all the information he was going to part with.

With a sound that could have been a grunt or a growl, the hunter levered himself up to his feet, bowing his head slightly in grudging docility. Turning away, he rolled his eyes as he headed for the door only to be pulled up short by a word from Jinette. Turning back, he frowned at the pleasant smile Jinette favored him with.

"There's more?"

"No, not concerning the monster…you have as much as we have on the matter. But…I have some good news for you. Since you will be virtually cut off once you enter the jungle, I thought it best that you have help on this mission. Therefore, both Carl and myself will accompany you.

"You! In the jungle?"

Jinette's grey eyes crinkled with a sly, offhand humor that Van Helsing didn't trust for an instant. "I believe I may be of assistance to you, and I have matters to attend to at the mission. As for Carl—you found him helpful in Transylvania, did you not?"

"This is a different situation. I know nothing about what awaits us there. How can I protect the two of you, hampered as I am?"

"Hmph. I am certain, as he was in Transylvania, Carl will prove useful once again. We shall get along."

Van Helsing's eyes narrowed as he watched Jinette's face for the slightest crack in his façade of serene complacency. Apparently, there was great deal more to this mission than he was being told, as he had suspected, and it irked him beyond measure to have to deal with Jinette's assumption that the Lord would protect true men of God from all evil while they carried out their secret agendas.

"Your Grace," he said, trying not to grind his teeth. "You said it yourself--I'll be tracking an underwater creature. While I'm certain Carl has studied everything under the sun in those books of his, that's no substitute for literally diving into the middle of hell."

"Van Helsing!"

"I'm not even sure either of you can swim!"

"Ah," Well that changed things, and abandoning his irritation at the other's blasphemy, Jinette hid behind his hand the smile that tugged at his mouth. Irritation, a mischievous disrespect, even rebellion he was used to from this man. To see Van Helsing concerned over his safety, a man who so irritated him…it was a pleasant surprise. "Rest your mind on my account, Van Helsing. I swim," the Cardinal lifted a hand in an undulating glide through the air, "like a fish. As for Carl...it would be best to find out soon. I will leave it to you to brief him on the mission and, if necessary, teach him what he needs to know before we embark upon our journey."

Turning away from the hunter, Jinette once again looked out over the gardens and the shimmering waters, smiling at his hidden thoughts. "I have booked tickets for us to set sail from Civitavecchia in one week's time. You have a great deal to do before then, so I will not hold you any longer. Have a pleasant day, Van Helsing."

* * *

Within the magnificent domed Palace of St. Peter was a fairly innocuous confessional that had been there for generations. There was nothing about it to mark it as special or any different from thousands of other confessionals. But its plain wooden confines shielded the hidden door to a truly miraculous place—the stone catacombs below the Palace which housed the laboratories of the Holy Knights of Rome. Wide stone stairs, carved by hand and smoothed by a thousand years of traffic, wended downward into the smoke and fire-filled maw of a dragon. 

In those laboratories, a tiny army of men from the world's faiths worked together to create unheard of miracles in weaponry and amour to be used against evil. An evil the outer world had never suspected was real and would be ill-equipped to deal with.

Van Helsing noted the concussive flash of controlled explosions as he emerged from the stairwell competing with the din and ring of hammers beating heated metal, sending blood-red sparks flying with each impact. It was a wondrous experience, even to his jaded senses, and the muted undercurrent of a dozen languages echoing in the chambers only enhanced the mental panorama: here truly was a Tower of Babel, fallen to earth and held tight within its stony fist.

Van Helsing strode through the mayhem with the eyes of a connoisseur, his long fingers caressed deadly works of art with an appreciation solemnly noted by their makers. They were all here to do their part to save the world from the ravages of evil, but they were also men with the pride and self-respect of masters of their crafts.

The room seethed with activity, but Van Helsing was looking for only one man, and he found him in the thick of the densest cloud of smoke near the center of the room. Waving at the clotted whorls of blue and grey, the hunter reached into their midst, snagged one of the dimly-seen hunched shoulders, and dragged the figure out into relatively clean air. Hacking and coughing, the figure turned to face the hunter.

With a startled oathe, Van Helsing fell back two steps before recalling himself. Batting at the smoke, he squinted at the monster before him. It had tentacles and huge bulbous eyes that glowed. It looked like a nightmare from hell. "Carl? Is that you in that thing?"

The monster made a snuffling noise that sounded like an startled exclaimation of surprise,then a pale dirty hand rose to the bulbous face and pulled it free. Abruptly, the blond-haired, blue-eyed friar was before him, fixing his streaming eyes upon the hunter with a scowl.

"Why did you pull me out? I was right in the _middle_ of an important experiment!"

"You were in the middle of asphyxiation, your lips are blue."

"Eh?" Ineffectually, the friar rubbed at his lips, and then coughing hoarsely, used his sleeve to mop at his eyes and nose. When he reemerged he shrugged at the hunter's look of distaste. "It's a new all-purpose mask that I've been working on. Capable of withstanding gases of all sorts, and can even be worn underwater for limited periods."

"It needs some work," the hunter assured his friend as he poked at the thing laying on Carl's table.

The friar sniffed at his censure and moved his creation out of reach before asking, "What brings you down here, Van Helsing? Come for a visit? Or more weapons?"Without waiting for areply, Carl instead circling his table to make a minute adjustment to an unidentifiable machine. And wiped his nose on his sleeve again.

"Carl…"

"Mmm?" Still not looking up, the friar circled the table again to ungently elbow the hunter out of the way.

Van Helsing coughed, waving his hand vigorously at the sharp stink of chemicals that clung to the friar. Carl didn't appear to notice, his whole attention was taken up by a bubbling flask set over a low gas flame. Van Helsing noticed the flame got higher and hotter every time Carl got close to it. When the friar bent over the flame to stare intently at the bubbling liquid, Van Helsing grabbed his collar, jerking him back as the flame shot out in a foot-long geyser, licking at the friar's robes which instantly kindled.

Amid shouts of alarm and rushing bodies, it took some doing to snag the leaping friar without being knocked senseless in the melee. OnceCarl was wrestled to the ground, his fellow inventors rallied with a bucket of water, held for just such emergencies. It was quite a large bucket and by the time the last drop of water had fallen from it, Carl resembled a drowned pink rat on one side and a bundle of singed cloth on the other.

Mindful of the deep standing puddles, Van Helsing carefully squatted down by the friar, grimacing as the blond man hacked and wheezed pitifully. "Are you alright?"

"I…I think…so. What about my experiment?"

"Never mind your experiment. I'm more concerned with you."

"Oh…**_AAachoo_**!...Really?"

Shaking his head fondly at the pleased expression in the friar's bleary blue eyes, the hunter pulled Carl carefully to his feet, removing his own coat to place it around the friar's stooped shoulders. "One of these days, Carl, you're going to blow yourself up and leave nothing but a small greasy spot behind."

"Well, it's not as if I make a habit of that sort of thing, Van Helsing," Carl observed dazedly, then raised his arm to wipe his nose on the sleeve of Van Helsing's coat.

"Ah..ah!" Van Helsing growled, seizing the friar's arm and forcing it back down. "You need a bath, Carl. You smell like smoke and chemicals and if I let you get too near the forge you'd burn the place down. Come on."

"But..but, my work…."

"Is safer with you far away. Besides, if I have to watch you wipe your nose on your sleeve one more time…." The hunter shuddered with distaste. Carl only rolled his eyes, but he allowed Van Helsing to lead him away.

In deference to the friar's sensibilities and his barely clad state, they went the long way around to the laundry used by the other friars and monks. As luck would have it, the room was deserted.

"Good, now let's get this off you before you catch your death of cold."

Carl nodded vigorously, his teeth already clattering together like castanets. Without demur, he raised his arms and allowed the hunter to pull and yank the wet sackcloth off his body. Beneath, the friar wore only a thin linen vest and linen drawers that terminated at his knees.

Grabbing a towel, the hunter began to roughly towel the friar's dripping blond hair dry. As he did so, he could hear Carl's muffled voice raised in an interrogative though he couldn't understand the words.

"What?"

The friar's flushed face emerged from the folds of the towel, his eyes fixing on Van Helsing with suspicion. "I can do this myself you know. I'm not completely helpless."

"Alright, you do it," Van Helsing conceded the towel and settled himself against the edge of one of the long chipped washing sinks, crossing his arms and legs comfortably.

Dutifully, the friar began to dry off, his gaze sliding to his friend thoughtfully from time to time until he murmured, "Are you going to tell me?"

"Tell you?"

An air of reproof crept into the friar's voice as he patted gingerly at a minor flash burn on his chest. "You came to see me about something. Now you're hovering like a mother hen. You usually only do that on missions, thank God. It doesn't take a genius to figure out you've something on your mind."

"Hmph. You can read me like a book, can't you."

"Let's say that time and friendship have made you a much easier read. Now tell me!"

With an apologetic smile upon his normally stern lips, Van Helsing pushed away from his comfortable slouch and approached the friar, taking the startled man firmly by the shoulders. "Yes, we are friends, Carl, and I've got another mission."

"Oh? Well….I'll miss you, of course." Plainly befuddled, the friar smiled tentatively and patted the hunter's hand. "Make sure to pack plenty of warm things, you can never have too many pairs of dry socks."

"I don't think that's going to be an issue this time. They're sending me to the South America, and you're coming with me."

Without Van Helsing's hold on his shoulders, it was likely that Carl would have slid all the way to the floor. As it was, he hung from the hunter's hands as he stared up at his friend with a mixture of aghast horror and disbelief.

"_South America_?" Carl's voice was a horrified squeak that brokeand grated like an adolescent boy's. "I don't want to go on another mission! I don't even like going into town unless I absolutely have to."

"You did fine in Transylvania," Van Helsing reminded the friar soothingly.

"I was almost killed in Transylvania! It doesn't rank high as my all-time favorite memory!"

"If it's any help, Jinette will be going as well."

That brought a halt to Carl's horrified protests and left him frowning and blinking like amyopic mouse. "His Grace is going to South America? Whyever for?"

Van Helsing stifled the urge to laugh. It never failed--present Carl with a mystery and he was inevitably hooked by it. Well, he wasn't above a little foul play, all in a good cause of course. "It's a long story, Carl.Before going into it, Ihavea question for you and I need you to answer it honestly."

"One question?" Carl's blue eyes opened impossibly wider as he took in the hunter's stern and forbidding manner. "Alright, I'll answer it as honestly as I can. What is it?

One of the hunter's dark eyebrows rose as his hands on the friar's shoulders tightened. "Can you swim? I mean really swim?"

* * *

The drowsy hot midday peace of the rear gardens' was abruptly shattered, sending the animal and birdlife fleeing for their lives. 

"No! Nononono! Absolutely not! Let go of me!"

"Stop flailing about, Carl! You'll get the hang of it in no time."

"I don't care! I don't want to get the hang of it! If I did, I would have tried it a long time ago! Let go! Letgoletgoletgo!"

"OW! Damnit! Stop kicking!"

Huffing, Van Helsing released the struggling blond friar at the edge of the blue pond. With lips set in a determined grimace, he moved to immediately block the friar's scrambling efforts to dodge past to the safety of the strolling paths. Carl, clad only in his still-damp underthings, hugged himself fiercely as though he stood in the deepest snow. Glaring up at the hunter before him, he hopped from one bare foot to the other on the cool black mud bank. It occurred to the friar that the man before him was between himself and safety. A little propitiation would not go amiss if he wanted to survive this madman's unstable state.

"I didn't mean to kick you," he muttered, summoning up a wobbly smile. "Your leg just got in the way."

"Apology accepted," said the hunter with a wincing grimace. "But that won't get you out of the lesson. You, Carl, are going to learn to swim today! Swim like a fish!" The smile vanished. "Or drown in the attempt!"

With red cheeks bulging out with each rasping breath exhaled through flared nostrils, the friar radiated the unmistakable air of a man betrayed. In the aftermath of the horrifying realization he was to be dragged from his beloved lab to the darkest filthiest jungle he could think of, Carl had answered Van Helsing's seemingly meaningless question without thinking—he couldn't swim. The best he could manage was a wobbly dog paddle.

The result of his laudable honesty was to be dragged out to the rear garden pool by Van Helsing who was now, suddenly and inexplicably, Hell-bent on teaching him to swim.

Carl faced his nemesis with the horrified assurance that the hunter had gone stark staring bonko. Obviously, he would have to be **_firm_** with the man. "Van Helsing, I don't want to swim."

Van Helsing frowned, raising an admonishing finger to him as if chastising a fractious puppy. "Carl, you need to learn to swim and I have very little time to teach you."

"Time? Why? Are the labs in danger of flooding? Get back in touch with me then!" With a sudden lunge to the right, the friar tried to circle around the hunter only to be blocked by an outstretched arm.

"Ah…ah! Learning how to swim when you're eyeball deep isn't a plan, Carl. It's called drowning. Now turn around and face the water. I won't let you sink, I promise."

"But why? You tell me I'm going to a tropics--alright, it will be awful but at least they're civilized with nice drinks. Then in the next minute you're dragging me out to drown me in the pond. Why is it important whether or notI can swim?" The friar's bottom lip disappeared between his gnawing white teeth as he eyed the hunter up and down, taking in his usual ensemble of boots, dark trousers, linen shirt and vest. "You're still dressed--going in with your clothes on?"

Van Helsing snorted as a knowing smirk plucked at the corners of his mouth. "I hadn't planned on it. I'm hoping you'll see reason and not try to get around me the moment I turn my back on you."

"Hmph. You make me sound like an errant school boy," Carl sniffed haughtily. "And for your information, I have been in water over my head and managed fine! Remember Transylvania?"

"I remember your splashing about like a drowning man before we got to the bank. I thought you were just cold and were trying to keep warm. If I'd known you were going down for the third time…."

"Hah hah. Graceful or not, I managed to get back to shore on my own. It wasn't a problem then and, with a little luck, it won't be a problem in the future! Now if you'll excuse me, I feel the urgent need to slip into something decent!"

With nose in the air, the friar moved to get around the hunter again.

Van Helsing shook his head with a sigh. "Carl, this will hurt you a lot more than it will me, but it's for your own good." With the last word, the hunter's large hand was planted in the friar's chest and a forceful push sent the friar stumbling backward.

Carl had the time for one strident yell before disappearing beneath the blue water.

"Thousand one," the hunter murmured as he leant down and began to unlace his boots. "Thousand two…thousand three…."

The surface of the pond erupted as Carl surged to the surface, gasping and choking as he flailed at the water.

"Swim, Carl! Move your arms and legs!" First one boot, then the other was tossed back onto the gravel path.

"(argle!) (ack!) h…help!" the friar's shout was lost as he went under once again.

Shaking his head, Van Helsing yanked his shirt and vest up over his head and tossed them backwards to join his boots. Moving quickly to the water, he dove deep, stroking through the glinting blue coolness until he saw the darker shape of Carl foundering at the muddy bottom. Seizing the back of the friar's vest, he propelled them both to the surface with a hard kick.

They broke the surface at the same time; Van Helsing kept a firm hold on the back of Carl's vest as the friar slapped at the water and coughed his lungs clear.

"Y..you… (ack!) are……try..trying to ddrown me!" the friar gargled, slapping at the hand at his back.

"If you don't stop hitting me, I'll let you go under again! Move your arms and legs, I know you can tread water. Do it, Carl!"

On cue, the friar's limbs began to churn beneath the water, first erratically, then more smoothly until he was keeping himself afloat. Once he was sure Carl wasn't going to sink again, the hunter released his hold on the other man.

"There," he growled as he rubbed the water from his face. "That wasn't so hard."

The look Carl fixed him with was anything but friendly. Just to make sure the hunter understood his feelings on the matter completely, the friar went on to elaborate. At length. Using short, easy-to-understand language of the 4-letter variety.

Van Helsing's dark brows rose along with his estimation of Carl's cursing ability. True, the friar got most of the more pithy phrases wrong, but the intent was unmistakable.

"Carl! Mind your tongue--you're a man of God, not a wharf rat!"

"On the contrary!" Carl spat out a mouthful of water past chattering teeth. "Thanks to you, I drowned like a rat at the bottom of this filthy pond! I'm entitled to curse if I like! Now I want to get out of this disgusting water…get dressed…and go to my room!"

With that, Carl floundered and splashed about until he was pointed toward shore and set out for it in a very wobbly dog paddle.

Stifling the urge to laugh, Van Helsing caught up with the friar and circled him with a few easy strokes. This failed to deter Carl's determined splashings toward dry land so the hunter dove beneath and came up again directly in front of the friar, forcing Carl to stop.

"Leave me alone!" the friar wailed, splashing at Van Helsing.

"Sorry Carl, but I can't do that. I didn't tell you everything about our mission."

"The-Mission?"

Van Helsing shrugged, grimacing in sympathy at the horrified look upon the friar's face. "To the Amazon."

"The _Amazon_? But…what happened to South America? You said South America...I was thinking nice little beaches and Brazillian resorts!

Van Helsing shrugged, grimacing in sympathy at the horrified look upon the friar's face. "Think of it as an adventure. A chance to see what you've been reading about."

"But…the Amazon? I don't even like _reading_ about jungles. Jungles have snakes in them. And huge bugs! And if _they_ don't get me the heat will."

"It's a chance to get some color in your cheeks, bask in the sun a little."

"I don't bask! I'm an inventor, not a tropical plant!"

"For this mission, you're an inventor who's going to the Amazon," Van Helsing said firmly. "And since the monster we're after is aquatic, you'll need to learn how to swim."

"I don't see why. I don't plan on getting in the water with it!" Several seconds passed as a look of horror crossed Carl's face. "Do I?"

Shrugging easily, Van Helsing grinned at the friar's moan of despair. "Don't worry, Carl, I'll protect you. With any luck, you won't have to put a toe in the water."

"Luck?" Carl groaned, shaking his head pitifully. "I have no luck, Van Helsing. I thought you're realized that by now! First blood sucking monsters…now piranha. My life is over."

"Hmm. Well before we hold services for you, why don't we try swimming first?"

The look Carl gave the hunter made it very clear his sense of humor was badly out of place. It took some doing, but with many mutterings, Carl grudgingly allowed Van Helsing to begin stretching him out in the water on his back.

"You're going well, Carl, just relax. Here...relax your stomach…."

Bad idea: at the first touch of the hunter's fingers to his stomach, the friar violently contracted into a ball that sank from sight.

"_Carl._" With a growl, the hunter's hand slashed down into the blue water, snagged the friar by the vest, and hauled him back to the surface again.

"What the hell happened?" he asked the gagging spluttering friar.

"T…t….ttt…."

"Next letter, Carl!"

"Ttticklish!" the friar spluttered.

"Oh for…"

"I can't help it! I didn't ask to have drowning lessons!"

"Alright, alright, sshhhhh. "Van Helsing rubbed his hands briskly up and down Carl's arms, creating friction to warm him. "Try to calm down, all right?

"Mm-mm," chittered the other, his eyes half closing. "F-Feels good."

"I'm glad you liked it," said the hunter with an affectionate grin. "Okay, let's try again."

"No. I don't want to float, I couldn't relax now if my life depended on it. Just…let's just move along to swimming."

"Alright, if you prefer."

Over the next hour, Van Helsing worked with the friar to even out his dog paddling first, and then to try the breast stroke. They made some progress with the paddling, but it was plain a great deal more work was needed for Carl to even approximate real swimming.

When the friar's teeth began to chatter nonstop, Van Helsing reluctantly called a halt to the lesson and helped Carl to one of the sun-warmed benches at the edge of the pond.

Carl was a pitiful sight as his teeth clattered together nonstop and his skin pebbled with gooseflesh. He hacked and coughed as if he'd swallowed gallons of pond water until the hunter obligingly thumped him hard on the back.

"Enough!" Carl growled, elbowing Van Helsing. "You've already drowned me, there's no reason to pummel my corpse!"

As several moments elapsed, it gradually occurred to Carl that Van Helsing was being surprisingly quiet. Curious, he risked a sidelong glance at his friend to find him looking out over the pond. His expression of pensive thoughtfulness and worry was well known to Carl, and the friar felt a sense of shame at his own foul mood.

"Van Helsing…." Carl waited until the hunter's hazel eyes swung to his own blue, then shrugged and smiled. "Learning to swim isn't the end of the world. I'm sorry for my mood. Of course, I might be a trifle slow to learn, but I think I'll be able to master this swimming thing. After all, other people do it, so certainly _I_ should be able to manage easily--once I put my mind to it."

A smile touched the hunter's grim mouth as he shook his head over his friend's amiable narcissism. "I don't doubt it, Carl," he murmured, patting the sniffling friar on the back. Let's go back in and get you dried off."

Reluctantly, Carl abandoned his warm bench, standing half bent over, his arms wrapped about his chest as Van Helsing went to the path to get his own clothing. Then together, they proceeded gingerly up the stone path.

Carl sneezed, loudly, and then sniffed wretchedly before muttering, "I really don't know what Cardinal Jinette is thinking. I'm not a field man, you know. Yet he seems determined to send me to my death. Do you think I've offended him somehow? Or does he just not like blond friars?"

Van Helsing snorted, his hand moving upward to ruffle Carl's drying hair, noting that the ubiquitous 'curled up bits' were already reappearing. "Well, if it's any help, it won't be just you suffering on this trip. Jinette's coming too."

"That's right!" Carl stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide in astonishment. "That's quite amazing, if you think about it. Whyever would he feel the need to go on a mission?"

Looking down at his stunned friend, the hunter's dark brows rose in sardonic arches. "I don't know Carl, you'll have to ask him; but, I don't think out here in the gardens in front of everyone is the time or place to discuss it."

The blue eyes blinked in perplexity and Carl looked about them at the empty grounds. "What? Why not? There's no one out here with us."

Van Helsing sighed, shaking his head. "No, they're all inside looking out at us, Carl. And that's no bathing costume you've got on."

"Eh? Bathing…." A hard red flush suffused the friar's face as his eyes dropped like rocks to the wet almost transparent linen clinging to his skin. In the next instant, he was sprinting outright for the nearest door leading into the Palace's laundry rooms.

Watching his friend's pink form disappear from sight, Van Helsing sighed again and followed at a more leisurely pace, muttering, "At least the journey won't be boring."

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Rating: PG13

Summary: Jinette, Van Helsing and Carl board the boat

Special thanks to my beloved beta Shoshone and to Archangel Gabriel, the patron saint of the written word.

Warning: This is a slash story, hopefully a good one.

Disclaimer:Van Helsing, Carl, and Jinette belong to Mr. Sommers. I do not own nor did I originate the Creature. The plot, blood, sweat and tears are mine and Shoshone's. No profit has been made from this fictional work.

**Feedback**: I hope that you find this story enjoyable. Any suggestions or critiques that would make it better would be gratefully accepted. Thank you so much, Laurie, for reviewing my story! You're right!

* * *

**BLACK LAGOON-2**

The Italian port town, Civitavecchia welcomed the three travelers at the end of the week with darkened streets and hot muggy docks. Carl, descending from the coach first, peered about him at the busy lamp-lit docks with curiosity and not a little trepidation. He could feel the spray of salt on his cheeks and felt the faint impact of the continuous waves on the docks. A large boat, some yards distant, gently rolled and creaked with each passing swell. Carl wasn't familiar enough with sea-faring craft to identify what kind of boat it was, but he took comfort in how large it appeared and the two tall masts rising into the night sky. Remembering his trip to Transylvania, he thanked God that at least seasickness would not be a problem on the journey.

Casting an eye upward, he regarded the clear starry sky with distrust. Once he'd accepted the fact that his 'trip' was not some awful cruel joke, he'd spent a great deal of time researching Brazil and the voyage it would take to arrive at their destination in Salvador. In his research he'd discovered that before they ever caught sight of the Brazilian jungles, they would first have to brave the Atlantic in hurricane season. This was not a welcome realization.

An impatient nudge urged the friar away from the open carriage door and recollecting himself from his musings, Carl turned to help Cardinal Jinette descend to the paved street. Van Helsing had exited from the other side of the coach and was now helping the driver to remove their luggage from the overhead.

Clearly, Jinette was well pleased as he looked about the docks and breathed the Mediterranean air deeply into his lungs.

Tentatively, Carl filled his lungs as well, then fought the urge to sneeze at the stink of fish, polluted water and the sweating press of humanity around them.

Beside him, Jinette shook his head as he patted Carl upon his shoulder. "Never mind, Carl," he murmured with a knowing smile. "It is an acquired taste, I think. If our driver has brought us to the correct dock, this is our ship. While you help Van Helsing with our bags, I will check with the Captain." With a last satisfied pat, the Cardinal left Carl to his own devices.

"Well, here we are, then," Carl sighed as he made his way to the rear of the coach. He was able to identify the press of people about the coach now as most likely the crew of the ship they would be boarding. There seemed to be an enormous number of large crates waiting to be loaded and judging by the sounds of disgruntled 'lowing', their ship would also be host to quite a few cattle. "One big happy family," Carl muttered. "Well, if we end up shipwrecked, at least we'll have plenty of fresh meat. I hope they swim better than me…maybe I can hang onto a tail or something…."

An unlooked for shoulder slammed into Carl, making the friar stagger wildly before he caught hold of the coach wheel to steady himself. "Sorry sorry," he gasped, only to emit a strangled "_Ulp_!" as a large hand closed on his shoulder and pulled him through the crowd.

"I was beginning to wonder where you'd disappeared to," Van Helsing reproved him as he pressed several parcels into the startled friar's arms.

Carl managed a strangled squawk of 'sorry' before the hunter seized his elbow and began to tow him through the crowd toward their ship. "W..what..about our…luggage?"

"I've made arrangements to have them loaded. The few things we'll need during the crossing, we'll carry on board."

"Oh," the friar blinked at his armful, trying to identify what he carried by their dark jumbled shapes. "Ah…my books?"

"Got them," the hunter grunted. In the lamplight Carl recognized the bulky outlines of several small trunks strung about the hunter's strong frame.

Unable to see above the press of bodies surrounding them, Carl settled on keeping sight of Van Helsing. He managed this by mercilessly shoving through whatever got in his way. Judging by the curses and cries that followed him, he would be saying some extra _Hail Marys_ in his nightly prayers.

They made it to the dock at the foot of the gangplank in good time to see Jinette standing by with an older man in uniform. Neither man was looking pleased.

"Something's up," Van Helsing murmured as Carl craned his neck to peer around the hunter's dark bulk.

"Something's wrong with the ship?"

"No. I think our captain doesn't like the look of some of his passengers," Van Helsing gestured with his chin at a dark press of men gathered about many long crates.

The group of men, a dozen in all, were dressed in dark clothing with stocking caps. Although the flickering lamps that lit the dock made it difficult to be certain, it appeared to Carl that all of the men were particularly rough looking. He would have been tempted to use the word "pirates" if the men weren't obviously planning to board his own ship.

"They look like rough customers," he murmured to the hunter. "I recognize the styling of some of their clothing as English…some French."

"Mmm. I'd be willing to wager those crates carry guns."

"Guns! Why would…?"

"South America is in turmoil," the hunter reminded his friend with a shrug. "It's only a matter of time before Brazil joins in to overthrow their current king. Guns would be a welcome commodity."

"And those men? They're soldiers?"

"Of a sort," Van Helsing murmured. "As long as we stay out of their business, we should be fine."

"But!" Carl's protests were cut off as the hunter walked up the long ramp. "Van Helsing!" Hurrying as fast as his awkward armful allowed, he caught up at last as Van Helsing greeted the Cardinal and the captain.

"You have seen our fellow passengers?" Jinette asked Van Helsing quietly as the hunter settled the cases he carried at his feet.

Van Helsing shrugged, directing his gaze to the captain. "If we could keep them from boarding, it would be best. But I imagine that's not an option, is it?"

"No, regrettably it is not," the captain admitted with a frown. "I can only advise you to avoid their company as much as possible. I know it will…ahh. Here comes their leader now."

Van Helsing's head was down with his hat pulled low as was his habit. From a position of relative anonymity, he watched a tall stout man detach himself from the group to approach the gangplank. The man was an inch or two taller than Van Helsing with massive shoulders that were offset by a large stomach. His face was hidden for the most part by a bushy blond beard. Even in the flickering lamplight, though, it was his eyes that caught and held the hunter's attention. They were quite pale in color, reminding Van Helsing of Brother Andrew's. But where the Brother's eyes called to mind a perpetually startled rodent, there was nothing startled nor rodent-like in this man's gaze. They pierced the men they fell upon with a keen intellect and an almost visible air of savvy accounting. This man looked upon life and everyone in it as an opportunity for making money—everything would come down to its worth.

"Captain," the man nodded, his eyes flicking from Jinette, to Carl, then Van Helsing. A faint frown drew the man's blond brows down as his eyes dwelt momentarily on the hunter before returning to the captain. "My name is Sebastian. I and my men are headed for Salvador. Those are my crates. Will there be any difficulty in loading them?"

"You are very late, Signor," the captain began, and then paused as the pale eyes fixed upon him. There was no spoken or implied menace to the gaze, but the men those pale eyes touched felt it just the same. Clearly, the captain wanted no problems; he shrugged, and then reluctantly nodded. "Very well. I will see to it that they are loaded. You have procured accommodations already?"

"Yes."

"Very well."

With a nod, Sebastian turned away and walked to rejoin his men. The captain set about getting the cases loaded, leaving the three men from the Order behind.

"That one, he will be trouble," Jinette murmured as he turned up the gangplank. "Van Helsing, did he recognize you?"

The hunter grunted as he picked up the cases and trunks. "I don't know. He may think he did."

"All the more reason to avoid his company, then. We will maintain a discreet presence on board—you will remember that?"

"Where's the fun in that?" the hunter asked, one dark brow rising as Jinette hesitated on the plank, then shook his head and continued on.

Carl watched them ascend the ramp, nibbling on his bottom lip. Brigands. Guns. Hurricanes. Davey Jones' Locker. Man-eating bugs the size of a small carriage. Fish food or bug food, it didn't matter if he was at the bottom of the food chain, and he huffed rather self-pityingly as he realized that all of the troubles could be avoided by simply turning about and disappearing into the darkness. Who could blame him? His eyes turned to the group of dark men still waiting on the dock and found his eyes locking with the pale gaze of Sebastian. The full beard shifted to reveal a knowing and unpleasant smile.

Without conscious volition, Carl's feet took charge and carried him up the plank and out of sight of those terrible knowing eyes.

* * *

Carl's thick boots made muffled clumping sounds on the wet deck, he could feel the slight pitch of the ship on the water and he was aware that the smell of the briny water was also stronger in his nostrils. An unexplainableprickling surge of excitement suffused him, catching him by surprise. He didn't remember feeling excitement on his first trip with Van Helsing, but there was no mistaking it now. He took it as a good sign and looked about him a little more eagerly. 

The ship was larger than the one he had taken to Transylvania; though its sails were furled, the size of the two masts and the amount of rigging promised they would be a magnificent sight when the canvas sheets were down and full of the Atlantic winds. The ship itself was clean enough and seemed in good repair. Even the sailors that were on board seemed in better spirits than those on the dock.

With his mind fully occupied by his rubbernecking, Carl gave scant attention to where he was going or where his other two companions went. When he recalled himself and looked about for Van Helsing or the Cardinal, he was surprised to find them gone and himself alone on deck.

"Ah…well this is a fine pickle." Frowning, Carl turned about in a full circle, twice, scanning his surroundings in perplexity"Ah…well this is a fine pickle." Frowning, Carl turned about in a full circle, twice, scanning his surroundings in perplexity. "Well, it's a boat, not the mouth of Hell. I'm certain there's nothing unusual about people loosing their way. I simply need to ask directions to the passenger cabins. Right…."

With his resolve firming his jaw, the friar looked about him now for a likely sailor to direct him only to find that catching their attention was harder than he would have supposed. Most of them seemed to take great delight in clambering up the nearest available rope the moment he got within hailing distance. After several aborted attempts he was getting frustrated enough to climb a few ropes himself when a wizened face with a gap-toothed ear-to-ear grin abruptly thrust itself up in front of him.

The appearance of the bewhiskered visage was completely unexpected as was the blast of alcohol laden bad breath. Gagging and coughing, Carl fell back several steps as he stared wide-eyed at the apparition before him.

"Monkey" was the first word that came to mind. The man before him was all of five feet tall with skinny legs and skinnier shoulders and arms. Between his extremities hung a pear shaped torso inadequately covered in the ragged remnants of traditional sailor's rig. Surmounting a wizened stick-like neck was a head as round as a coconut and just as brown. Sparse white hair poked up in tufts in all directions; beneath the hair was a pair of bushy white eyebrows and below those were the liveliest, most gleeful black eyes Carl had ever seen. He had a brussel sprout of a nose and a thin-lipped mouth that his wide smile proved was almost completely devoid of teeth. The large, very prominent ears that cupped the man's head like wings completed the picture and were bizarre enough in themselves that Carl almost missed the fact there appeared to be a huge bite missing from the lobe of one of them.

The second word that came to mind about the man that faced him was "barmy" as the fellow began a high cackle and slapped his thighs.

"Ah hah hah, yes, that was good," Carl assured the fellow as he slowly backed away. "Scare the friar. Good game, fun for the whole family. Well, it's been lovely chatting with you…excuse me!"

Whirling about, Carl set off at a fast trot, breathing a sigh of relief. His escape lasted all 5 seconds—the length of time it took the slack in his robe between himself and the handful the stranger had grabbed to play out. Feeling the tug on at his back, Carl twisted and turned, peering behind him.

"Let go of that!"

"You said yer a friar, din't ya?"

"Eh?" Ceasing his struggles, Carl turned about, grimacing as the fellow still clutched his robe, causing it to wind about his legs. "Yes, I'm a friar. What do you want?"

"S'not what I want," the man assured him with another ear-splitting grin. "S'what _you_ want!"

"Ah. Well then, I want you to let go of my robe. For a start."

Immediately, the bit of cloth clutched in the wizened hand fluttered free. "See? Simple simple!"

"Yes, I can see that about you," Carl assured him with a wan smile. "Er…your accent…you're American?"

The man winked and made a clicking sound with his tongue. "You guessed it, Chicken Boy."

"'_Chicken Boy_'?" Carl repeated, frowning.

"Yep, fryer, chicken, pollo, poulet, flannel pecker…."

Carl closed his eyes and allowed a deep sigh to come from the soles of his boots. "It's friar…F.R.I.A.R. Not fryer." Opening his eyes, Carl caught something passing through the bright black eyes of his companion that made him wonder. He wasn't pleased with the feeling and cleared his throat with a frown. "Look, I seem to be lost. Perhaps you could direct me to the passenger cabins--then I'll be on my way, and you can carry on with whatever you do."

"No problem, I can show you. You can rely on Bastian Pollidory to get ya where yer goin'."

Amiably, Pollidory threw an arm about Carl's shoulders and urged the friar to fall in step beside him. Carl's frown was threatening to take up permanent residence as he allowed himself to be pushed and prodded along; his boots stuttered and clomped awkwardly on the deck as he tried to match the other man's stride. Walking so close to Pollidory confirmed the man enjoyed his drink and didn't worry overly much about spillage. Carl felt himself getting a little light headed from the fumes alone and started babbling in an effort to clear his head.

"Actually, it's a good thing I found you…I got turned around somewhat and needed directions."

"Yup, could see that. Watched you flutter around a bit, just to be sure you were the right party. Never seen a friar up close before."

"Oh. You knew who I was? Were you looking for me?"

"Yup. Yer big buddy told me to locate you. Seemed pretty worried that you'd get yourself hurt or end up overboard or…."

"Yes yes! Van Helsing is inclined to be a bit over protective."

"Lovers…get right in amongst ya, doesn't they. Don't worry, he should loosen up in the jungle. Can't swat bugs and hold hands at the same time, as the sayin' goes."

Carl blinked, his mouth opening and shutting as he processed the dreadful things the little man was saying. In the end, he decided to ignore the mind-boggling concept of 'lovers' completely, instead managing to squeak, "Jungle…you know about our trip to the Amazon?"

"Yup! Don't you worry, I'll take good care of you and yours. I'll get you to that mission pronto! Here's your cabin—you and the big guy sharin' huh? Cozy! Pleasant dreams, Chicken Boy!"

In one motion, Pollidory thrust the room's door open and with a clap on the back that made Carl stagger, propelled the friar inside. He barely registered the hearty slam of the door behind him as he faced Van Helsing with a scarlet face and gaping mouth.

* * *

"……I'm certain this is a mistake! I don't think he's even entirely lucid. He kept calling me 'Chicken Boy'. As marinated in alcohol as he is, I'm certain half his luggage would be bottles. He'll probably pass out two steps into the jungle and we'll be left in the middle of nowhere without a guide. No, no the best idea is to avoid a problem right from the start…. Van Helsing? Are you listening? 

The hunter was lying on the lower of the two rough bunks the small room provided. With his hands behind his head and his legs crossed at the ankles, he looked quite comfortable. Or he would have except for the small frown that drew his eyebrows down into perplexed arches.

Standing across the cabin at the built-in clothes press, Carl blinked at his silent friend, then looked down at himself as one hand fluttered up to his hair. "What? Do I have something on me?"

"Chicken boy?" A badly stifled grin plucked at the corners of Van Helsing's mouth.

Carl left off his self-inspection to fix the hunter with a disgusted glare. "Yes, I should have realized you'd enjoy that. Ha ha, very funny." Turning about, Carl carefully hung his spare summer robe inside the wardrobe, muttering as he did so, "No doubt it's a big hit with all the little boys and girls."

Van Helsing snorted and extended a leg to gently poke Carl in his hip; the friar responded by slapping the hunter's leg and shoving it away.

"You're in a mood," the hunter affirmed, not bothering to make it a question. "Pollidory didn't mean anything by it. He was trying to be funny…."

"Yes, I got that," Carl interrupted, turning about to fix the hunter with a stern look as he crossed his arms. "He also said some horrid things about you being over protective, and us holding hands in the jungle. He insinuated that we were…_lovers_."

The smile twitching at Van Helsing's lips bloomed into a full grin as Carl's voice dropped to a horrified whisper on the last word. "Obviously, he's never seen you in action with the ladies. I still have a hard time reconciling a man in your position going into heat every time we get within a mile of an inn or tavern."

Carl sniffed, an unwelcome smile tugging at his own mouth. "Well, I simply don't choose to put myself through unnecessary hardships like you do. Man was not meant to deny his nature, I'm certain of it."

"Hmph. And all the other religieuses back at the Palace, what of them? What would the Pope say?"

"Probably the less said about his views on such things the better," Carl advised sternly. "I don't begrudge any man the relief that a willing woman is able to provide, but neither do I go out of my way to poke into things that are none of my business."

"No no, of course not," the hunter agreed. "Of course, the church has always had a somewhat blind view of its clergy's chastity, on the quiet of course. You're not exactly homely; could be Pollidory just assumed that on a long voyage with no women on board…."

Carl's frown deepened as his gaze upon the hunter became speculative. "You know…if I didn't know that you had more willpower than God, I'd suspect that to be a proposal."

"Hmph." Snorting and shaking his head, Van Helsing turned onto his side, facing away from his friend, giving Carl a perfect view of his back. "Just remember, I'm not the one who's left a trail of broken beds and sighing women from one end of the globe to the other. It's going to be a month-long journey, Carl. You'll want to start acquiring a little willpower of your own. It's that or Mrs. Palm and her five strapping daughters."

"Mrs…." Carl blinked, then flushed brilliantly. "No no! It won't come to that. I'll manage fine."

"If you say so. Good night, Carl."

"Good night, Van Helsing."

Carl started to disrobe, and then paused, chewing his lip. After several seconds of internal debate, he reached a decision and leaned over to extinguish the lamp.

In the darkness, as he finished undressing, he paid particular attention to not noticing Van Helsing's quiet chuckles.

* * *

Sebastian stayed on the dock as the dark hours grew late, his gaze fixed upon his cargo and the men who were moving it slowly into the ship. When the last box was loaded, he pulled a gold watch from his pocket and checked the time. Three a.m. Carefully he made his way up the gangplank to the waiting captain. He could see the man was nervous about him, a fact he considered good. People who feared consequences were apt to be more careful, a little more wary of the harsh consequences a mistake would incur. He understood that kind of mindset completely. 

"All is in order?" the captain asked, stiffly.

"Thus far. I'll want to go down to the hold to count the boxes and verify they're well secured and undamaged. After that, I'll be satisfied."

"Count…," the captain flushed as his lips thinned in an angry line. "I assure you, signor…."

"Yes, I know. Everyone always wants to assure me. Perhaps it would help clarify matters if I assured you that should I find anything amiss with my boxes at this point, I'll be more inclined to accept it as an accident easily remedied. In Salvador, I fear my reaction would be drastically altered for the worse. Now, for all of our sakes, surely it will be better my way."

Keeping his lips firmly pressed shut against the words he longed to say, the captain nodded once, and picking up the lantern, led the man to the holds. He had to remind himself that he was the captain of the vessel at sea, but on land he answered to the owners of the boat. And, for whatever reason, they had made it very clear that Sebastian was to be obliged in all things.

He feared the owners had made a grave mistake in their pursuit of this man's money; he only hoped he and everyone else onboard would not be the ones to regret it.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Rating: PG13

Summary: 2nd day aboard ship with rough waters ahead. Shoshone didn't get an opportunity to beta this latest revision so any mistakes are entirely mine.

Special thanks to my beloved beta Shoshone and to Archangel Gabriel, the patron saint of the written word.

Warning: This is a slash story, hopefully a good one.

Disclaimer:Van Helsing, Carl, and Jinette belong to Mr. Sommers. I do not own nor did I originate the Creature. The plot, blood, sweat and tears are mine and Shoshone's. No profit has been made from this fictional work.

**Feedback**: To Countess Verona Dracula, Katie, and MagRowan THANK YOU for your reviews! It certainly is a pick-me-up to hear that everything is going well! _(This isa revision of the original chapter content to make clearer what happened to the Captain. I thank MagRowan sincerely for her questions about the clarity of the original description--I hope this works better!)_

* * *

**BLACK LAGOON-3 (Revised)**

Carl's dreaming world that had been so pleasant--full of swaying palm trees and a bevy of nearly naked women who smiled and beckoned in a wonderfully provocative manner—was abruptly turned upside down. There was a sensation of falling and he curled into a ball just before he hit the floor.

Groaning and thrashing at the bedclothes that seemed to have made the trip from the top bunk with him, he fought his way to the surface to look up at Van Helsing eyeing him from his own bed. He noticed that the hunter, clad only in his dark trousers, seemed quite steady and comfortable and felt a hot stab of self-pity.

In the next instant, Carl gasped as the world heaved once again, flinging him sideways against the cabin wall.

Van Helsing winced as he watched Carl rebound with an agonized groan. Setting his jaw, he grasped one of the posts of the bed in a hard grip then leaned out to snag the back of Carl's nightshirt. With a convulsive heave, he dragged the friar gagging and retching across the floor and up into his own bunk. It was a tight fit, the bunks weren't made to accommodate two full-grown men. As it was, he had to lie almost on top of Carl in order to brace himself against the heave and sway of the ship.

"_Ooooohh_," Carl moaned and swallowed hard.

"Don't even think about it," Van Helsing growled.

Closing his eyes tightly, the friar forced himself to swallow, hard, before speaking. "What…what's going on?"

"Storm."

Blinking at the succinct summary, Carl lifted his head from the pillow to crane over Van Helsing's bare shoulder so that he could see the small porthole on the far wall. He winced at the strange pale yellow light without that flickered fitfully with jagged lightening. "Are we in the middle of a hurricane?"

"No…ouch! Carl, move your knee!"

"My knee? Oh! Sorry!" Blushing, the friar squirmed beneath the hunter, sliding his knee from between Van Helsing's legs only to be thrown forward again with the next surge. Above him, the hunter's face twisted, his eyes closing tightly as his mouth thinned to a line. Fascinated, Carl watched Van Helsing's nostrils flair, then subside, then flair…..

"If you don't put your knee somewhere else soon, Carl, I'm going to demand a ring."

"I'm sorry, I can't help it!"

Abruptly Van Helsing's head dropped forward and Carl's blue eyes widened as he felt the hunter's warm breath wash over his neck; a baritone growl released directly into his ear made him close his eyes tightly as he shivered. Then Van Helsing was moving, sliding on top of him.

"Van….Van Helsing?" Carl stared, horrified, at the other man's face above his own in such close proximity he could count eyelashes.

"Relax, Carl….I'm just moving out of your way…."

"_Oh…_." The word was a mere breath. Van Helsing's eyes opened and Carl found himself staring into them from a distance of inches. "Are you going to be moving any time soon?"

The hunter's eyes rolled and his body followed, sliding off the friar's to his other side so that Carl was now on the outside of the bunk.

"Now what?"

"Turn over. There's not enough room for you to lay on your back. Turn on your side and brace yourself."

Nodding, Carl turned, gasping as he had to jam both feet and hands against the posts to avoid being tossed out onto the floor. "I can't sleep like this!"

"Just wait." There was more movement behind Carl and several subdued curses before a blanket flopped over the top of him. "Tuck that well in, then slide back against me."

Carl did as he was told though he frowned as he noticed the scratchy material didn't cover his feet. Still, he wasn't about to complain. Once he finished tucking the blanket into the side of the bed, he pushed back until he was pressed firmly into Van Helsing's body. He noted the blanket remained taut and realized the other man was lying on top of his portion of coverings so that, in effect, Carl was comfortably strapped into the bed. In the next instant, Van Helsing's arms were sliding about Carl.

In his ear he heard a deep sigh that caused his hair to stir and tickled his neck. "There. Now, go to sleep."

"Can you sleep like this?"

"At this point, I could sleep on a rope. Go to sleep, Carl."

Nodding against the coarse material of the pillow, Carl settled down, pulling his feet up until they were covered, then wriggling about to find a comfortable place in the lumpy mattress. He heard Van Helsing sigh again behind him and shrugged beneath the hunter's arm.

"Sorry."

"Are you about done?"

"Yes. All comfy now. Goodnight, Van Helsing."

"Mmph."

Carl lay as still as possible as he waited for sleep to reclaim him. He watched the flashing yellow light that bloomed and faded in the porthole and he thought about the fact that beneath them was a vast amount of water, dark and cold. He was grateful for the warmth of the coverlet over him and the heat that soaked into his back from where he was pressed against the other man. Though they had been friends for years, he'd never been this close to the hunter. He found himself feeling pleased that Van Helsing, who was known to be a lone wolf, would consent to such a thing. Of course it was all done in the interests of keeping Carl from bashing his brains out on the cabin walls. It would hardly do to be down one expedition member before the expedition even got started. It was likely the Cardinal would have something to say about that. Carl found himself wondering how Jinette was faring. An image of the Cardinal, jammed into the bunk with them prompted a snorting giggle that he tried to smother in the pillow.

"Carl…."

"Yes yes, going to sleep now. Goodnight, Van Helsing!"

He felt the pillow move as a small grunt tickled his neck again and he smiled to himself as he pictured the hunter shaking his head. For some undefined reason, he found this insight into his taciturn friend a very comforting thing. With a sigh of his own, Carl subsided into the mattress and easily passed into sleep.

* * *

The night passed with difficulty as each rough heave of the vessel jerked the men awake and clutching at the bed posts. It was difficult to tell when morning came as the dense yellow fog outside the porthole lightened very little. 

Heavy eyed and dull, Carl dressed in stops and starts; finding it impossible to manage while standing upright, he settled himself on Van Helsing's bunk first. More often than not, he would have pitched headfirst to the deck if the hunter hadn't had a firm hold on him. He emerged from the neck of his brown robe rumpled and somewhat popeyed, though his eyes rapidly narrowed at the sight of the hunter's ear-to-ear grin.

"Hah hah. Yes, laugh while you may, Van Helsing. Just remember, it will be your turn soon enough and you'll be at the mercy of my good graces."

One dark eyebrow ascended as a shocked expression came over the hunter's face. "Carl! You're a holy man—you wouldn't deliberately allow me to fall would you?"

A smug smile plucked at the friar's lips as he waggled a finger at the other man. "Ah, but you forget—I'm only a friar. We're allowed a little leeway."

Van Helsing tilted his head as he dubiously surveyed the man before him. "Hmph. Sounds shady to me. What would Jinette say?"

"I'd imagine His Grace would applaud me vigorously after all the trouble you've given him in the past," Carl sniffed. "You're not the easiest person to live with, you know. So mind your manners—be nice to your friar and nice things will come to you."

Giving up on any attempt to reprove the friar's smug certainty, Van Helsing shook his head in admiration. "I'll remember that. In the meantime, if you've finished dressing?"

"Oh, yes. Go right ahead."

The hunter chose to stand to dress and paid for it by several close calls. While pulling on his turtle neck, the ship lurched right and he felt himself falling only to be stopped by two hands planted squarely on his buttocks.

"Whoops! Ah..there you go." A firm push righted him and he smiled inside the obscuring folds of his shirt. He could _feel_ the hot blush Carl was no doubt now sporting. When he was able to pull the shirt down in place, he noted that Carl was very assiduously keeping his head down and his hands firmly in his own lap. Like a good little friar. Heeding a mischievous urge, he leaned over and ruffled the friar's blond hair so that it stood on end.

"Thank you, Carl. Now, let's see if we can get out on deck."

The door proved to be a temporary obstacle as it stuck firmly in place for several seconds until Carl helped Van Helsing to wrench it open. Panting, the friar grimaced at the soggy plane and shrugged.

"Let's hope we don't have to get out quickly on this voyage."

"From your mouth to God's ear. Come on."

Due to the rough weather, the lamps that punctuated the outer causeway and would normally serve to light it were extinguished for safety's sake. Left to their own devices in the unfamiliar passage, they paused for several seconds to allow their eyes to acclimate. The muggy scent of the ocean depths exuded from the damp wood; with the dank closeness of the narrow hall, they felt as if they'd stepped into the mouth of a giant beast. Yellow curls of fog poured through the distant hatchway and steep steps leading up to the outer deck. Occasionally, flickers of lightening would light up the haze only to die far too quickly, leaving them nearly blind in the following darkness. The doorway seemed very far away, and the passageway seemed to grow closer and tighter with each passing second. Carl swallowed and took a firmer hold on the door jamb before venturing to move out of the comforting confines of their tiny room into the throat of the beast beyond.

"_Oooo_!"

"_Ah_!" Clutching at his chest, Carl whirled and stumbled back, his wide staring eyes fixing on a huge dark shape rising up before him, reaching for him….. Lightening flashed and thunder boomed. "Damnit, Pollidory! You almost gave me a heart attack!"

A tiny flame bloomed to cast darting shadows across the old man's wizened features. Carl noted sourly that a huge grin was currently plastered over those features.

"You're awake, eh? Figured you'd be bed-bound, sick with the rockin' and the swayin' and the heavin'…."

"Oh God! Shut up!" Whirling about, Carl thrust his way forward into the darkness, heading toward the sanctuary the lightening promised. Even the possibility of electrocution was preferable to a matchlit conversation with the gleeful little gargoyle who was, apparently, now his own personal cross to bear.

Behind him, Pollidory scratched his head. "What did I say?"

Van Helsing shrugged though Carl, had he been present, would have had no difficulty in seeing the mischief in the hunter's hazel eyes. Together, he and the ancient seaman followed the friar up to the deck.

* * *

Jinette narrowed his eyes against the blasting wind. He felt a sense of exultation in the power of the storm and the heaving sea. It recalled a childhood that he'd all but forgotten in his years within the palatial Vatican. He'd forgotten what it was to wake with the dawn and to go with his family to the fishing boats. Even as a young child, he'd marveled at God's works, at the fascinating dark-green depths of the ocean from which they pulled their livelihood and their daily sustenance. He'd treasured those days for a long time, the moreso when his calling summoned him far from the fishing grounds to Rome. He couldn't recall, now, when exactly the daily doings of the Order had supplanted his memories of earlier and easier times. He had not been home since he had taken on his duties in the Order; after so long, it was doubtful he would have anything in common with that simple life now. His life belonged to the Order, and the people who worked with him had become his family. 

Still…it was nice to once again breathe the sea air.

The flickering light of distant lightening brightened the pale yellow fog enough for him to see Carl's weaving form staggering toward him. The friar, plainly, had no concept of how to walk across a swaying deck and Jinette inwardly cringed as he watched the man careen from the safety of the passageway to collide with a mast only to bounce off and strike another. At this rate, it was even money if Carl would break a limb or simply fall overboard. Without hesitation, Jinette moved to intercept the friar, catching his sodden robe in a hard grip as he pulled him to the safety of the rail, even going so far as to curl the friar's fingers about the chill metal.

Unable to speak for panting, Carl blinked his thanks through dripping lashes before turning his gaze out to the swelling ocean. He was awed by the colossal waves that rose before him, threatening to overwhelm their little boat, only to somehow disappear beneath them as they were lifted high into the air. For a moment, the boat seemed to hover over the world on invisible wings--in the next instant they were plunging straight downwards into a bottomless black chasm. He couldn't scream, couldn't compel his throat to work to force sound from his gaping mouth.

_**BOOM! **_

The boat crashed down onto the rock hard water with a shudder that reverberated in every bone in Carl's body. Water rushed at him from all directions and he coughed and choked as it filled his mouth with salt; bending over, he expelled the foul liquid with a hacking wheeze. When he could breath again, he looked about only to find that he was once again at the top of the world, riding the waves to the heavens.

A strong warm hand clutching his wrist pulled his attention back to conscious thought. Jinette, his face set in stern lines, pointed toward the passage, mouthing words Carl couldn't hear but understood just the same. It took all of his courage to pry his cold white fingers from the death grip he had on the railing; almost immediately, he was nearly pitched headfirst down the length of the deck as the ship lurched into another horrifying downward descent. Only Jinette's hand on his arm kept him upright and steady and more-or-less headed in the right direction. As they neared the cabins, Carl was relieved to see both Van Helsing and Pollidory standing in the open hatchway. They reached out to pull both the Cardinal and friar to semi-dry safety.

Looking at the pale-faced blond friar standing somewhat forlornly, hair and robe dripping wet, Jinette tsked and patted his shoulder.

"Like anything else, the sea is something to be learned," he advised with a smile. "Perhaps, until you feel more comfortable, you might take less drastic measures to get your fresh air? Sticking your head out of the porthole, perhaps?"

The friar's blue eyes blinked several times, then he nodded with resignation. Looking from one to the other, Pollidory clearly made up his mind to soothe the friar's wounded pride.

"Eh! You look like a drowned rat!" Pollidory cackled as he obligingly gathered up the front skirt of Carl's robe and wrung it out into a mass of shapeless wrinkles. "There you go, Brother Rat!" A hand patted Carl's chest with annoying joviality and he batted at it.

"Yes, yes, thank you! And stop calling me Brother Rat!"

"Right you are! 'Brother Rat' smacks of a lack of respect for your holy rank. So, we'll stick with Chicken Boy then! Now, this way to your cabin, where you'll be safe. This way…move your feet, that's it."

Jinette watched Pollidory chivy and heckle Carl toward his cabin, a grizzled eyebrow rose as he murmured to the hunter beside him.

"_This_ is the best guide you could find?"

Unapologetic, Van Helsing shrugged. "You didn't give me much time to be choosy. And, though he has his peculiarities, he comes well recommended."

"That is heartening, at least. It appears that he has taken our friar under his wing. Let us hope they both survive the attachment."

The hunter made no reply, but his soft huff of amusement brought a smile to Jinette's lips.

* * *

Over the course of the day, the storm subsided somewhat, though the fog, if possible, grew even thicker; its curling fingers reached under the doors and made the wooden floors of the cabin slick and clammy. 

Van Helsing quietly worked on his weapons, wiping the moisture off the bright metals and then carefully laying a protective coating of oil over all. He was pleased that he was spared the curse of seasickness, and he was doubly grateful that apparently Carl was to be spared as well. If either or both had succumbed, it would quickly have made the tiny room unbearable.

Carl had insisted upon climbing up into his own bunk. Claiming that he was an inventor and should be able to rig something that would keep him firmly tucked in, he'd spent quite a bit of time muttering and ripping cloth. Just when Van Helsing was certain the friar would have no blankets or linens left, the ripping ceased and all became quiet. Too quiet. Moments passed and the hunter began to wonder if Carl had managed to strap himself in so firmly he was now trapped.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the friar's head made an abrupt appearance over the edge of the top bunk. With his blond hair flopping with each motion of the ship and his eyes somewhat pop-eyed, the image of him made Van Helsing smile.

"What? You managed to tie yourself down and now you can't get up?'

"Hah hah! Your faith in my abilities is less than touching, Van Helsing!"

"On the contrary. I have great faith in your abilities. I _am_ surprised to see you awake. You didn't get much sleep last night."

"I tried to sleep, but I'm hungry and my growling stomach is keeping me awake. How do we go about getting some food on this boat?"

"Good question. I'm hungry too, now that you mention it. I suppose we need to find the galley. They're probably not serving, but we should be able to scrounge something."

"Anything!" Eager noises and some provocative grunting occurred from above followed by the friar dropping down to the deck with a pleased sound. "You know, I think I'm getting my sea legs! I don't feel nearly so unsteady as I did before."

"I'm just grateful you don't get seasick," Van Helsing muttered as he shrugged into his coat and pulled his hat down low before leading the way to the door. With a practiced yank, he forced the wedged panel open.

"No, no seasickness, thank God!" Carl assured him happily. "Comes from having family in the shipping business, I suppose. I inherited their sea legs."

"Mm. Well, get those legs moving, if you want some food."

With a determined nod, Carl sallied out of the cabin and into the dim corridor with the confidence of the starving. Van Helsing followed; despite Carl's faith in his new-found balance, the hunter planned to keep a sharp watch.

The friar was moving at a smart pace. His anticipatory 'yum yum' noises were vying with progressively louder stomach gurglings. If this kept up, by the time they got to the galley, Carl would be in a mood to eat the bilge rats. A loud gurgle of his own stomach reminded him to ask for his own share of those rats if the time came.

As he was concentrating on their assorted noises, he became aware of a different sound, faint and far away…no, not far, but rather muted.

"Carl, wait…."

"What? Wait? But I'm certain the galley's this way, just down those stairs…."

"Listen, can you hear that?"

"All I can hear is my stomach _loudly_ protesting any delay," the friar huffed, but he paused, falling silent expectantly. For several seconds, all they heard was the whistling wind outside, then,

_THUMP…THUMPTHUMPTHUMP_

"What is that?" Carl whispered as he moved closer to the wall and pressed his hand to the damp wood only to jump back as another thump caused the wood beneath his palm to vibrate. "Something loose on deck?"

"No…I heard…."

Both men jumped as a loud strangled shout was heard and then several thumps against the exterior.

"Come on!" Van Helsing turned and ran back up the hallway, toward the far hatch that led onto the deck.

A leaden sense of uncomfortable foreboding replaced the hungry gurglings of his stomach as Carl picked up the skirts of his robe and ran after his friend. They'd come a long way down the passage in the near darkness, much farther than he had thought. He was winded by the time he burst out of the hatch and onto the foggy deck. Whirling about, he caught sight of the vanishing back of the hunter and plowed head first into the fog in pursuit.

They rounded the corner of the cabin house, their hands dragging along its clammy surface for some distance when they heard the thumping sound once again. It was fainter now, and it had moved away from them and toward the railing of the ship.

Van Helsing leaned into the fog, putting on a burst of speed as his hands slid beneath his coat to find and pull free his pistols. Raising one in the air, he fired a shot.

From the yellow whorls ahead, Carl heard the coarse swearing of two men's voices, and then the sounds of fleeing footsteps.

"Carl! Look after him, I'm going after them!"

"Him? Them? What?"

In the next instant, the friar was tripping madly, his arms windmilling as he tilted inexhorably forward to sprawl over the body that lay at his feet. A pale bloated face loomed out of the fog at him and he shouted, horrified. Scrambling back, he stared at the body for several seconds before he realized its mouth was open and the supposed dead man was gasping for air. Carl lunged forward, pulling the man to a sitting position only to discover a rough hemp noose was cinched tight about the stranger's neck.

"Oh my God!" Gasping for air himself, the friar forced his fingers to take hold of the rope, yanking and pulling at it as he tried to loosen the knots. The man's dead weight dragged them both down onto the deck and the friar began to curse loudly as he clawed at the wet hemp, feeling it cut his fingers and snag on his broken nails. "If I had a knife, damnit! I can't…it won't…oh God….oh God! There it goes!"

Abruptly the knot loosened, just a little, but the man beneath him bucked upward as he reflexively dragged in a lungful of air with a hoarse shout. Grimly, Carl continued to work at the rope until he could tug it off over the man's head; with an oath, he hurled it over the rail. In his ministrations, he'd noted the man's clothing was damp dry—certainly no more damp than could be accounted for by long exposure to the swirling fog. So, whoever had attacked him had done so on deck, probably sneaking up on him from behind. It was sheer luck that the man's struggles had resulted in his kicking the hollow sides of the cabin house, thus alerting his rescuers in the first place.

Gingerly, Carl adjusted the man's body so that he lay flat on the deck, patting his shoulder in a vaguely comforting manner. The man beneath him was beginning to rally and the dead pallor that made his face corpse-like receded. The sinking feeling in Carl's stomach hit bottom as he now recognized the near-victim as the boat's captain.

* * *

Van Helsing followed the fleeing footsteps through the fog; ahead of him he heard the garbled oaths of his prey as they careened off obstacles that were hidden by the mist. For the most part he was able to avoid a similar fate, but sometimes not. His entire attention was on the chase; later he would take time to count the bruises and reflect on the advisability of pursuing two would-be murderers on a slippery deck in a dense fog. 

He followed them down the length of the deck only to find himself at the stern rail with no where else to go and no sign of his quarry. He took a moment to holster one pistol so that he could reload the other before beginning to cast about for signs. It didn't take long to deduce that the assassins had fled below decks through a rusty hatch situated at the base of the rear mast. Holstering one pistol, he kept the other ready as he eased the hatch open and crouched down to peer into the darkness below.

A pair of enormous arms encircled Van Helsing from behind, clamping tightly about upper arms and rib cage, lifting him from the deck as easily as if he were a child. Gasping, he strugged againstthe strong embrace without success--the arms about him only tightened. Gritting his teeth, he cocked the pistol he still held, aiming by feel at the pillar-like leg braced against his own.

"Here! That's not advisable!"

Another hand appeared from the side to seize the pistol, jerking it from his grasp. In his ear, he heard a wheezing growl as his feet swung free of the deck. His captor's face was buried in his hair, his panting breaths hot and wet against the hunter's neck. Remembering the garroted man he'd left behind him, Van Helsing's lips pulled back in a snarl as he slammed his head backward and felt something give. A warm spray hit his neck and cheek as a voice bellowed in his ear. The arms about him slackened and he slid clear, falling to a crouch that he rolled out of sideways so that his back was to the stern rail and his spare pistol was cocked in his hand and pointed at the two men that faced him. He didn't recognize the giant who was moaning and clutching at his streaming nose, but the second man was well known to him.

Sebastian allowed Van Helsing's pistol to slide from his fingers to thump on the deck before raising his hands. A smile came to the bearded lips.

"Ah, I can see the news of you didn't half do your abilities justice."

"You know all about me," Van Helsing growled, one dark eyebrow rising. "I think it's time you were as forthcoming about yourself."

Tbc


	4. Chapter 4

Rating: PG13

Summary: More mysteries come to light as well as a page from Van Helsing's past

Special thanks to my beloved beta Shoshone (huggles!) and to Archangel Gabriel, the patron saint of the written word.

Warning: This is a slash story, hopefully a good one.

Disclaimer:Van Helsing, Carl, and Jinette belong to Mr. Sommers. I do not own nor did I originate the Creature. The plot, blood, sweat and tears are mine and Shoshone's. No profit has been made from this fictional work.

**Feedback**: To MagRowan and Katie, thank you so much for reviewing! I'm tickled that you like Carl too! To MagRowan a special thanks for letting me know I needed to make it clearer what happened to the Captain. I hope the rewrite helped!

**

* * *

BLACK LAGOON-4 **

Van Helsing raised his eyebrow at the smirk upon Sebastian's face. "You find murder amusing? I'm certain the Captain would disagree with you."

The smirk on the bearded lips didn't slip so much as an inch; even in the hazy light that penetrated the fog, it was easy to see an unexpected glint of satisfaction in the other man's pale eyes. "You've decided we are the guilty parties, eh?"

"Seems reasonable. Your large friend there is certainly strong enough to garrote another man with very little difficulty. And obviously, you know what has happened to the Captain--you were running from the scene when I came upon you."

An obnoxious snort answered the hunter as the smuggler's arms spread wide before him. "And what would _you_ do, Monsieur Monster Hunter, if a mad man charged you from out of a thick fog with all guns blazing? Would you stick around for a little chat? Perhaps some comments about the weather?"

"I'd put up my hands and stand very still," Van Helsing said, the muzzle of his pistol tilting just slightly upward so that its sights were fixed between Sebastian's eyebrows.

The smuggler's pale eyes narrowed as he raised his hands once again. "You're very free with your idea of justice, Monsieur."

"Turn around, we're heading back to the Captain."

Slowly, Sebastian lowered his hands, taking one step forward. "And if I say no? If I say that I did not hurt the Captain, that it was another man that we were pursuing, even as you believed you were pursuing us?"

"Tell it to the authorities. Get your hands…"

A dark angular weight plowed into Van Helsing from the side with windmilling fists that lifted him from the deck and sent him flying backward. In midair, he raised his pistol and fired, the blue smoke of the discharge tinted and mixed with the yellow fog. From the haze, he heard a grunt and then a loud stream of curses. In the next instant, his back impacted painfully with the stern rail as another massive set of fists surged out of the fog, one burying itself in his midsection, and the other pile driving into his chin, snapping his neck back. He felt himself tilt backward over the rail, slowly, so slowly it seemed as if he were floating.

As his body cleared the rail, time sped up and a scream emptied his lungs as he fell toward the dark churning ocean below. Frantically, he threw out his hands and felt the thick round bars of the railing slip past his fingers.

From the fog, a large hand appeared, lunging for him, it caught his gloved hand in a hard grip. Swinging freely over the icy water below, Van Helsing stared at the hand that held him as though it were the hand of God. Impossibly, he could see the hard knots of veins and tendons standing out over the pale skin, could hear the creak of his leather glove as the massive fist tightened painfully about his own. The spray of the churning wake splashed upward, soaking him, and he gasped as its icy touch sent his body heat plummeting. Only this seeming hand of God kept him safe from the horrible death that waited below.

The fist about his own shifted again, crushing his fingers. "I can't hold you forever! Reach up, grab the rail!"

The hunter blinked at the pain, shook his head to dispel the haze that slowed his thoughts, and then lunged forward, grabbing at the rail he'd missed before. This time, he caught it, and his fist tightened about the slippery metal in an unbreakable grip. Another hand appeared then to grab onto the back collar of his coat and he felt himself being hauled upward. The hand that held his own never let go, not even when he was pulled back over the rail and dropped onto the deck.

He panted, gasping for air as his hazel eyes trailed up from the hand to the arm to the shoulder and at last the face of his rescuer.

"Why?" he gasped, his dark brows dropping down as he met Sebastian's pale eyes. The smuggler's face was blanched to ivory white except for two pinpoints of fire on either cheek. As Van Helsing watched, a teardrop of sweat trailed down between the man's bushy blond brows and the blue eyes closed. Shaking his head, Sebastian growled; it was a dark sound like that of a confused animal. In the next instant, he tossed Van Helsing's hand from him as he rose shakily to his feet.

"We did not harm the Captain. It was another man, I didn't get a good look at him. We were pursuing the other man when you came upon us. It appears he has given us both the slip."

Van Helsing was aware of the giant, standing to one side with his bloodied face and probable broken nose; he supported another man—it was a safe bet this was the man who had pushed Van Helsing overboard. He cradled a bloodied shoulder; evidently Van Helsing's bullet had found its mark. Two men down by his hand—this would hardly have endeared him to the smuggler so much that he would risk his own life to save a veritable stranger's.

"You didn't answer my question," he reminded the smuggler as he slowly rose to his own feet, one hand moving up to push back the wet hair that clung to his cheek and neck.

Sebastian's blond brows contracted, his lips parted to answer when the sound of running feet and shouting voices interrupted them. The smuggler turned away--Van Helsing seized his coat, dragging him back.

"Tell me why!" the hunter growled, eyes blazing, white teeth set in a snarl. "And don't tell me it's because you can't stand the thought of murder—whether you're responsible for the Captain or not, I know you've done murder in the past."

The face, so close to Van Helsing's, creased in a hard smile as Sebastian's hand dived into his own coat to emerge with a creased faded envelop. Waving it in the hunter's face, Sebastian's smile slipped and grew dark as he murmured, "I owed you."

Easing himself from the hunter's grasp, Sebastian pressed the envelop into Van Helsing's gloved hand.

The running feet were approaching fast; grimly, Van Helsing and the three smugglers turned to greet the newcomers, raising their hands as they did so.

Carl's was the first face to appear out of the fog followed by several sailors'. The friar's anxious gaze brought an unexpected smile to the hunter's stern mouth.

"Are you alright?" Deftly, the friar pulled Van Helsing away from the smugglers, making unconscious clucking sounds as he did so. "You're soaked through! Did you go swimming?"

"Almost. I'll tell you later," the hunter answered, his eyes upon the grim seamen surrounding them.

"You had better!"**

* * *

**

Not unexpectedly, the sailors had insisted on locking them all within their cabins with no delay. All their questions and demands for information were met with curt assurances that when the Captain was revived enough to speak, a full accounting would be gotten from him. In the meantime, guilty and innocent alike would be forced to take a little enforced relaxation.

"Well, as cells go, this is not the worst we've been in, I'm sure," Carl remarked as he sat on Van Helsing's bunk with his bare feet swinging.

The hunter, stripped down with only a towel about his hips, was currently engaged in washing away the sea salt from his skin and hair. As they were still within easy reach of fresh water, rationing hadn't started yet and he was able to make a good job of it. He listened to the friar with half an ear, the rest of his attention was fixed upon the worn envelope that was in his coat pocket and the smuggler's cryptic statement of obligation.

"…. Of course, I can just imagine what Cardinal Jinette will have to say about all of this." Shuddering, Carl shook his head. "Why is it we can't spend five minutes on a mission without getting into trouble?"

Shaking his head so that the water splattered in every direction, Van Helsing took the towel being waved at him by the spluttering friar.

"This situation is hardly our fault, we'll just tell them that," Carl said hopefully, his eyes lightening..

"Ah, the truth, what a novel defense!" Van Helsing snorted.

Hope visibly deflated, Carl sighed as he picked at the nubby fabric of his robe. It raveled quite easily and he _tsked _as he made a hasty knot. "Well, if I'm going to be sent to the slammer, I'd like to know what for. I can see for myself that you're not hurt, but you're soaked to the skin. _Something_ happened—tell me…from the beginning!"

With a sigh that was pulled up from the soles of his bare feet, Van Helsing moved to the cabin door where his coat hung from a hook. The leather was clammy and stiff with salt, but the envelope inside was perfectly dry. With that in hand, he sat down beside his friend on the bunk. Turning about so that he now faced the hunter, Carl tucked his legs up against his chest beneath his robe so that he resembled a brown pear. His blue eyes held a lively gleam that was part curiosity and part dread.

"I'm ready, go ahead," he murmured, as he braced his chin upon his knees and fixed the hunter with rapt attention.

As the hunter told his story of his struggles with the smugglers, Carl's gasps and cries of horror more than made up for the chill still lingering in the hunter's bones. When he heard how close the hunter had come to being lost forever to the ocean depths, Carl seized his friend's arm and held it tightly with pale fingers.

"My God, you must have been terrified! Thank God Sebastian reached out to you, though I can't imagine why he'd be moved to do so. You're certain you've never met him before?"

"Not that I can remember. But apparently I must have—he told me he did it because he owed me…and he gave me this….."

When the envelope came into view, Carl pounced upon it. The hunter made no effort to stop him from gingerly opening it, nor extracting its contents. Instead, he settled back against the cabin wall, his arms crossing over his chest.

Coming to himself just before reading the missive, Carl flashed a guilty look up at his friend.

"Er…sorry about that. Did you…."

"No, it's fine. Go ahead. Read it out loud."

Nodding, Carl licked his lips as his eyes dropped down to the faded script.

**_Dear Brother, _**

**_It's been so long since we've corresponded. I know that I cannot expect your complete approval of my need to leave home and hearth, nor of my 'unnatural' feelings. But, you were once the one I told all my secrets to, you were my anchor and my protector. My leaving has not changed my feelings. I ask you now, one last time, please allow me the privilege of reclaiming some small part of my family through you. My life has been wondrous—far more than I ever expected. And perhaps the greatest wonder of it all is that I have fallen in love. As my beloved brother, and the keeper of my secrets, let me find comfort by confiding in you. If I don't confide in someone, I think the excitement and the anxiety of it all will cause me to run mad. If you cannot find it in yourself to grant me this much, then I beg you to destroy this letter. Your ongoing silence will be all the answer I will need henceforth. _**

**_To start then…I met Gabriel Van Helsing when he saved my life in Paris…. _**

Images appeared in Van Helsing's mind, given color and substance by Carl's voice.

_Van Helsing threw himself hard to the side, narrowly missing the swiping grasp of long clawed fingers. They trailed over his arm, but failed to gain purchase and in the next instant he was on his feet and running. _

_In his wake, the inhuman shrieks and calls of the zombies raised the hair on the back of his neck and forced his feet to move faster. Whoever had originally portrayed zombies as being slow moving and clumsy had obviously never **ever** had to fight one. Let alone three. He heartily wished that original writer of fantasy were with him now—preferably trailing him. _

_A skittering, rustling noise overhead was his only warning before a long ropey white arm shot out of the dense overhead foliage, closed upon his coat collar, and yanked him upward so quickly the air whistled in his ears. Reflexively, he raised his arms and slid free of the garment to drop back down to the road below. Two stumbling steps had him running once again as he haphazardly aimed his pistol over his shoulder and fired. The discharge beside his ear nearly deafened him while the flash singed his hair and caused it to smoke. It was worth it, though, when he heard the shriek of pain and the thud of a heavy body hitting the ground behind him. _

_Le Cimetiere du Pere Lachaise's cobbled streets covered countless acres of ornate sepulchers, mausoleums, and monuments—tucked into the small niches left behind were stained glass windows, sculptures, and bas-reliefs, all a feast for the eyes by day and a nightmare maze by night. He had a rough idea of where to lead his pack of ravening pursuers but the close press of the graves and monuments defeated his attempts to cut through them. The historic cemetery was designed to be viewed leisurely, not to be pelted through on trembling legs as each painful wheezing breath promised to be the last. _

_An unexpected, narrow stairway opened up at his right and he swerved to take it, in the process scraping his shoulder and arm badly against the tightly packed stone walls of the adjoining tomb. The long muscles in his thighs protested mightily as he took the steep stairs two at a time—in reply, his mind grimly supplied vivid details of the eviscerated bodies he'd witnessed and he found his second wind easily. _

_Behind him, he heard the scraping flapping steps of the zombies…there were only two now. Grimly, he raised his eyes to the dimly lit landing of the stair above. It wasn't difficult to guess where the third creature would be. He shoved his pistols into the back waistband of his trousers, freeing his hands to grip the handles of his tojos at his hips, pulling them free. The whirr of the blades was incredibly comforting as he burst out of the stone stairwell, ready to do battle, only to find himself alone on a narrow flat landing with the choice of two stairwells continuing up—one to the right and one to the left. _

_Behind him, he heard his pursuers howl with pleasure as they closed in. _

_Which one…which one! If he chose wrong, he'd be going in the wrong direction, away from the place he had to lead them. He couldn't keep running forever. If he guessed wrong, he'd be dead. _

_The trees and bushes were thick on all sides of him, giving him no hint of his location. He steeled himself, and closed his eyes, allowing his mind to go blank before calling up the image of the map of the cemetery to mind. With tightly shut eyes and gooseflesh prickling his skin in anticipation of claws tearing into his back, he squinted at the mental image, searching for his destination. _

_A shrill scream abruptly shattered his carefully-created image, causing him to jump, his eyes snapping open and to the left. The scream sounded like someone in terror of their life. The cemetery was supposed to be closed to the public—where were all of these damned people coming from? _

_At least the decision had been made for him. He leaped forward, taking the left stair, tojos raised and spinning. As he emerged onto a flat stretch of ground, moonlight provided an excellent view of what lay ahead. _

_The third zombie had indeed somehow circled around in preparation for trapping him on the stairwell. The creature had, instead, found a lingering tourist, a young man who appeared no more than twenty, if that. The surprise of having its hunt interrupted had thrown the zombie off pace. It had injured the young man, but not killed him. The stranger was lucky. _

_With a shout, Van Helsing drew the creature's attention; a feral smile pulled his lips into a grimace. "I've been looking for you. Come on!" _

_The slack skin of zombie's grey face pulled taut as it mirrored his smile, revealing bad teeth and black gums. _

_"Ugh! You've got a hell of a dental problem there…." _

_Zombies are not ones for small talk—with a keening wail, it threw itself at the hunter, fingers snapping greedily. _

_"Fine, have it your way!" The hunter ducked the hands and whirling about, slashing at the extended arms with the spinning blades. Cleanly, they bit into the rubbery skin and brittle bone, severing both arms. Thick black blood with the consistency of treacle oozed from the wounds as Van Helsing hastily fell back toward the fallen young man. _

_Without preamble, he reached down and yanked the boy up to his feet. _

_"Come on!" he shouted and dragging the other after him, ran out of the clearing and back onto the narrow street beyond. Once there, he looked back and saw the other two zombies appear. The third was howling with pain and anger as it dropped face-down on the muddy ground and writhed forward to the severed arms lying on the ground. Raising what remained of its arms upward, it touched the stumps to the raw edges of the severed limbs. Immediately, the limbs grafted themselves anew to the arms. It evidently made no difference to the zombie that the hands had been joined to the wrong arms and the thumbs now pointed outward. _

_The other zombies paid their fallen comrade no heed. Their cold blood had been set to racing in their hunt, it was hot now and the necrotic tissue of their brains understood only the imperatives of the evil that had awakened them. The bloodhunt. The need to destroy living beings regardless their age or sex or the character of the person before they had become a zombie. The only way to kill a zombie was to kill the master, and the master drew his or her lifeforce from the zombies. It was a vicious circle with no solution at first glance. _

_He recognized the area he was in now; miraculously, his decision to aid the young man had resulted in his choosing the right path. He made a mental note to thank the author of that miracle as soon as possible. _

_With his attention on the stranger, he realized the young man was flagging badly. Groaning, he hoisted the thin body over his shoulder. The immediate shrieks of pain from his lacerated skin wrenched a growl from him as he stumbled on in a weaving run. At his back he heard he boy's moans and cries for pity which tightened his jaw and firmed his resolve. His destination was just ahead, he could see it now, the cold bleak moonlight washed over the ornate walls of the mausoleum leaving inky contrails behind. _

_During his inattentiveness, the zombies had also picked up speed and bore down on the slower pair. Their dark tongues lolled from their broken mouths as jagged fingernails, dagger sharp, clutched at his hair, then his shoulder, sinking into the weave of his sweater, deep into his flesh.. He screamed, half in pain, half a curse as they dragged him sharply backward and his feet slid on the gritty cobbles. _

_There were two shots, their reports drowning out everything else. He felt the heat of the muzzle flashes against his back and heard the zombies' howls. The grip on his shoulder slackened and he thrust forward, through the small gate that opened to the closed stone door of the mausoleum. With his full weight, he thrust forward, forcing the door back until it grated open, spilling him inside. A tall figure waited within, standing amidst the flat planes of stone coffins like an avenging angel, facing the open doorway. A snarl bared Van Helsing's white teeth at the sight of the zombies' master. Clutching the young man's body to him in a savage grip, he dropped to his knees, then flat, and rolled to one side, into the shadows. _

_From the grey moonlight came the zombies, spilling into the small stone room, their greedy eyes fixing upon the standing figure. _

_Van Helsing ducked his head over the boy's, his breath was warm against the cool pale cheek below. To stop the faint moans of pain that emerged from the other's pale lips, he placed his palm gently over the boy's mouth. _

_The end of the master's screams was a long time in coming, he died at the jaws of his creatures very slowly as his flesh continuously renewed they whose lives in turn forced his own to continue. It was not an end Van Helsing would have wished on anyone. By the time the moon had set and the first red rays of the sun pierced the stone chamber, both master and slaves were dead, this time forever. _

_Rolling away from the boy, Van Helsing looked into the other's eyes for the first time and smiled at the steadfast gaze returned. "You've had an exciting night of it. If you can hang on for a little longer, I'll get you to a surgeon and a long rest." _

_The boy made no reply, but his weary smile was answer enough. _

****_

* * *

Normally, he would have disappeared; he would not have returned to the hospital for the boy, nor seen to it that he was settled safely at a good hotel. Paris had a strong aversion to Van Helsing of long standing and it was courting a public hanging to stay any longer than needful. But, this time it was different, he owed the young man who had saved his life._

_So, he stayed, for a week, and then two. He looked after the boy's needs, saw to his recovery, and talked with him when he awoke. He was pleased that the boy wasn't afraid when he learned the identity of his roommate and this encouraged him to follow the boy's lead and discuss a great many things. The days passed very pleasurably. _

_On the 14th day, when Luc seated himself beside Van Helsing on his bed, the hunter looked up from the pistol he was cleaning and met the boy's ginger smile with a questioning one of his own. Taking courage from the other man's acceptance of his nearness, Luc leaned forward and pressed his lips to Van Helsing's in a firm, moist kiss. _

_Luc felt the surprise in the set of the other man's lips, in the small startled gasp that warmed his own flesh. His hand rose to gently stroke the hunter's cool brown hair as he nuzzled against the other's mouth. _

_"Please…please…,"he breathed. _

_The instant of waiting for Van Helsing's lips to soften and accept the kiss had taken an eternity to pass. When at last they opened and he returned the soft carress, a savage bolt of emotion lanced through Luc's heart, laying it open and bleeding at the hunter's feet. His kisses had grown more assertive, he would have pressed Van Helsing down onto the bed, but the hunter instead urged him down then leaned over him. Van Helsing guided the kisses, keeping them breathtaking but without the earlier frantic urgency. It was like taking a long luxurious soak in the sun, each unhurried kiss, sucking first the bottom then top lip, then gently licking both. _

_It was Luc's injuries that sapped his strength until, at last, he began to fall asleep even while he was kissing the hunter. He breathed a sigh of regret as he stroked the hunter's throat, urging Van Helsing to lie down across his chest. The hunter was oddly reluctant, but in the end he acquiesced. With pleasure, Luc nuzzled the soft brown strands at his chin. _

_"I love you," he murmured. "I love you." He closed his eyes, then, and slipped easily into a deep sleep. _

_When he awakened, Van Helsing had dinner waiting for him. As he'd eaten, he'd told the hunter of his estranged family, of his decision to leave the family business and his attraction for other men that he could not and did not hide. Both failings had served to sever him from his past. The hunter had listened quietly, then urged him to write his family—or at least the brother he had loved so much. It had taken a great deal of coaxing, but at last Luc wrote the letter…. _

Carl looked up from the page, blinking as he returned from Paris to the small cabin and the silent man beside him.

"It…uh…it pretty much ends there. He says he would give you the letter to post, and since Sebastian had it I guess you did post it…."

"I did."

"Ah."

Seconds dragged by into moments before Carl cleared his throat and looked at the hunter speculatively. "You left him then, didn't you. In that hotel room. Because he said he loved you."

The hunter's eyes were directed down, to his laced fingers that lay upon his stomach where Dracula's ring glinted with each inhalation. It didn't surprise him that Carl had guessed correctly. His friend knew him very well.

"Did you love him?"

"No…yes…." The hunter sighed. "Not in the way you mean. Not in the way he needed."

The friar nodded quietly, his own gaze now lowered to the parchment. Then, "Whatever happened to Luc? Did you keep track of him?"

"No. There was nothing I could offer him."

The grim acceptance in the hunter's voice brought Carl's head up; his blue eyes were compassionate in the face of his friend's sad memories. Setting his jaw, he dropped the letter and envelope to the floor. When Van Helsing looked up, surprised, Carl twirled a finger at him.

"Turn about, so your head is at the pillow."

The hunter's cocked his head to one side in puzzlement, but at Carl's insistence, he did as directed. Immediately, Carl lay down beside him and tugged at the hunter's broad shoulders.

"Carl…what are you doing?"

"I'm (_huff huff_) being comforting. Or I would be if you'd be a good boy and lay down!"

The hunter's grim mouth twitched, and then curved into a smile. His hazel eyes softened as he shook his head.

"It's alright, Carl. It was a long time ago…."

"Not so long ago, if it still makes you sad. Now stop talking and lie down, you're wasting a perfectly good shoulder."

"To cry on?" Van Helsing asked as he eased down to dubiously lay his head upon Carl's shoulder and chest.

"Or sleep on or do whatever you like on. Except drooling. I have to draw the line at drooling."

A puff of air warmed Carl's skin through his robe and he smiled as he closed his arms about the hunter in a hard hug.

"There, much better. You've had a difficult day, try to get some rest. I'll watch over things for a while."

"Mmm." Rubbing his cheek gently against the scratchy sackcloth that covered Carl's shoulder, Van Helsing allowed his eyelids to close.

Moments went quietly by, then, "Van Helsing? Are you awake?"

"Mmm."

"Ah…well, when you wake up…I'd like to discuss that letter a little more…the…er…kiss?"

"I know."

"Ah! Well, right then! Go to sleep now, you need your rest!"

A deep exhalation was his only answer as the hunter's body grew limp and heavy over his own.

It occurred to Carl that he had never held Van Helsing in this way before. Had never held anyone in this manner before. It felt….

It felt….

Right.

Tbc


	5. Chapter 5

Shipboard, approaching Gibraltar

Rating: PG13

Summary: More mysteries come to light as well as a page from Van Helsing's past

**Beta: Shoshone**

Special thanks to Archangel Gabriel, the patron saint of the written word.

Warning: This is a slash story, hopefully a good one.

Disclaimer:Van Helsing, Carl, and Jinette belong to Mr. Sommers. I do not own nor did I originate the Creature. The plot, blood, sweat and tears are mine and Shoshone's. No profit has been made from this fictional work.

**Feedback**: To Nora D, Happyface 72, mychemicalromancefreak29, gothlyssa, Lady Willowish, Katie, and MagRowan—my most sincere and belated thanks for your reviews! It's been 2 years but you stuck with Shoshone and I. My head's in the right place now for continuing this story and with your and Shoshone's care and attention I hope it will turn out to be a good one!

**

* * *

****BLACK LAGOON-5**

A loud knock at their cabin door roused Carl from his doze, he sat up blinking muzzily.

"Wha…," Movement to his right drew the friar's attention and he realized that Van Helsing was standing by the wardrobe, dressing himself quickly. "What….has something happened?"

"I don't know…."

Their door shook forcefully with another hard knock. In the next instant, a key rattled in the lock and the door was thrust open hard enough to bang into the cabin wall. Carl peered at the men who stood in the outer corridor, the torchlight behind them rendering only their silhouettes plainly visible.

"What do you want?" Van Helsing asked, his deep voice carried an unspoken warning. Without intending to, Carl looked back at the hunter and released a sigh of relief to find the hunter in his dark trousers and sweater. He was still barefoot and an out-of-place realization hit Carl that he had never really looked at Van Helsing's bare feet before.

Carl's musings were abruptly terminated as two men pressed into the small room leaving a third in the doorway. Van Helsing's eyes narrowed as he noted the third was Sebastian. Carl recognized the leader of the group as the first mate when he answered.

"The Captain is awake. We have his story. We'll get yours now, separately, if you don't mind."

"And him?" the hunter asked, his eyes moving to Sebastian. "Have you taken his story?"

The first mate frowned, his mouth thinning as he shuffled his feet. He didn't bother to look over his shoulder at the smuggler behind him. "That's been taken care of. Now, if you please, sir, come with me."

Unexpected hands reached for Carl, pulling him up from the bunk. His legs tangled in his robe, making him trip and stumble. He had time for one garbled exclamation before he was rushed out into the corridor. Craning his neck, he peered into the dim light to see the door to their cabin being pulled shut again, closing Van Helsing inside.

"Wait--Van Helsing?" he called hesitantly, his eyes flitting worriedly over the grim men who held his arms. "I don't understand….."

From the flickering darkness, Sebastian smiled patiently, almost kindly if one didn't look at the coldness in his eyes. "He's alright. You will be too, if you cooperate."

"C-cooperate?" the friar stuttered, then gasped as he was awkwardly pulled off balance as the two men holding him urged him at a rapid pace down the corridor. He was quickly righted, but in that instant a scratchy whiskered chin touched his neck and a few breathless words of apology were grunted into his ear. Surprised, he tried to turn to see the man at his side only to hop awkwardly as he felt a splinter pierce his heel. "Ow wow ow! Damnit!"

One of his captors said something unintelligible and abruptly Carl was airborne, carried by his arms.

"_Eeep_! Wait…I can walk, if you'll stop _pulling_ at me… Watch where you're going!"

The foursome slammed into an apparent wall that gave easily before them, separating and swinging inward to reveal a small room filed with wooden tables, benches, and the stale odor of past meals. He barely had time to take it in before he was dropped onto one of the benches hard enough to make him yelp. Apparently, his guardians were feeling ill at ease manhandling a man of the cloth; their desire to distance themselves as quickly as possible was all too obvious as they hastily retreated through the swinging doors, leaving the friar alone with the smuggler.

"Much better." In the abrupt silence, the smuggler's voice was startled the friar, causing him to clutch at the table. A small smile lifted the corners of Sebastian's lips as he sank down on the bench beside Carl. "Now we're nice and comfortable."

Swallowing hard, Carl shifted on his seat, then rubbed his abused backside with a wince as he eyed the large blond man suspiciously.

"I thought the first mate was going to ask me questions?"

"Nooo," Sebastian shook his head slowly, the coarse flesh about his eyes crinkling as his smile grew wider. Bracing his elbows on the table, he leaned forward on them, causing the table to creak. His words were a warm moist stream against Carl's face that smelled strongly of liquor and tobacco. "Sorry for the confusion. It is true that there will be questions asked, but **I** will be the one asking them."

"Oh…so it's like that," the friar said, blinking thoughtfully. "You've taken over the ship, have you?"

Sebastian smiled lazily. "I'm not a pirate, friar. The first mate is a logical man, and we both agreed that the owners of this shipping line, to whom I give a great deal of lucrative business, would doubtless be quite willing to let me settle this crime to rights.

"I see," said Carl and mumbled under his breath, "a rose by any other name…."

"Now, Mon Frere, I will tell you what I told Van Helsing. I did not harm the Capitaine. I am a businessman first and foremost, my eye is always to the profits. As such, it would hardly be in my best interests to delay our trip for weeks, there's no percentage in that for anyone. But that's what will happen with a routine assault inquiry. You are a man of God, mon Frere, an educated man, and unlike Van Helsing, your sort are willing to listen to reason."

Carl blinked, his head tilting to the side as he regarded the other man. "I think you'll find that Van Helsing is willing to listen, as long as what he's hearing is the truth. For instance, is the Captain really alright?"

The other man's hand rose to stroke his beard thoughtfully. "He is. But it will be some time before he will be able to speak above a whisper."

"Well that's good news. Er, I take it that, while he's down, _you_ will be acting captain? No doubt, that is in your best interests as well, as a businessman."

With narrowed eyes, Sebastian shifted, sitting back from the table. "You have a refreshingly worldly outlook on life, Carl."

The friar shrugged. "Being a friar is not synonymous with being stupid, or reckless. To put it bluntly, I'm on an ocean-bound ship with at least one possible murderer. Since I don't fancy a swim, it's in my own best interests to be as open-minded as possible."

Unexpectedly, Sebastian chuckled. "I like you, Friar. You have intelligence and you're not so holy that you won't lower yourself to listen to reason."

"Ah…well…," Carl shrugged carefully as he eyed the large man sitting beside him with the caution previously reserved for vampires and werewolves. "Reason is good. If it does no harm."

"No, no harm," the big man assured him. "I have some idea of who your friend, Van Helsing, is and what he does for a living. What he does and how that connects him to Mother Church--that is between him and the Pope and I am content to leave it so. But I do not want him involved with this business we face. It's no concern of his, and he would only muddy the waters with his involvement."

"Ah…," Carl breathed, wincing as he shifted his seat and his abused posterior complained. "Why didn't you tell him yourself?"

Sebastian's eyes dropped as his smile reappeared but to Carl's worried eyes, it wasn't a very nice one.

"As I said," the smuggler murmured, turning on the bench so that he fully faced the friar, "Van Helsing can be stubborn. I suspect he would be more inclined to listen to you."

A heavy hand settled on Carl's thigh, squeezing.

"_Oh_!" Carl's eyes grew huge and round as his mouth dropped open. Hastilly, he scooted down the bench, pulling away from the smuggler's grasp. "Nononono! I don't…he doesn't….absolutely _not_!"

The smuggler snorted explosively as his smile became an open leer that held more than a touch of mockery. "Ask him to show you that letter I gave him, friar. I can assure you, he _does_."

Determinedly, Carl surged up to his feet; Sebastian rose as well, stepping over the bench to block Carl's departure. Immediately, the friar backed away, wincing when his back hit the wall with a _thump_. His breath came in rapid gusts as he eyed the large man before him and frantically tried to recollect every piece of advice Van Helsing had ever given him on hand-to-hand fighting. He was horrified to realize it was apparently a topic that they had never discussed.

"Whatever nasty idea you have in mind about Van Helsing and I, it's not true. We're friends, that's all. As for the letter, there are two sides to every story and which ever side he's on is Van Helsing's business. Now...," reining in his panic, the friar forced himself to take a deep breath and straighten to his full height before speaking again in as forceful a tone as he could manage. "I wish to leave. If you'll excuse me!"

Steeling his courage, Carl stepped forward his hand moving up to push firmly at the broad shoulder before him. He couldn't help holding his breath as he felt a cold trail of sweat run down his back. For an instant, friar and smuggler were frozen in a tableau, and then Carl felt a shock of amazement as the broad shoulder gave, pivoting to the side to allow him to pass. His objective, the door, was clearly in his sights and he made a beeline for it at a fast trot.

Behind him, Sebastian stirred, his voice a dark rumble that raised the hairs on Carl's neck. "Friar…don't forget to ask him my question. It's in all our interests that he cooperates."

With his hand on the door and safety in sight, the friar paused to look back at the smuggler. The man's strange pale eyes seemed to bore into his own and Carl shivered. He wanted to be well away from the smuggler and the warped pain he carried with him. Still, he couldn't' stop the question that seemed to emerge from his lips of its own accord.

"Luc…," the name emerged as a barely audible rasp, Carl cleared his throat, relieved when his second try emerged firm and clear. "Did you write him back?"

An ugly flush mottled Sebastian's cheeks as his watchful eyes widened and then narrowed into glittering slits.

"What do you think?" he growled. Holding the friar's eyes, he leaned forward over the table. Dropping all pretense of joviality, his manner was now wary and distinctly threatening. Looking at this stranger who felt no awkwardness in attempting to control him, Carl felt a touch of awe for the missing Luc who had dared such an anger.

He swallowed and carefully shrugged. "I think…not everyone you meet has 'interests' and not all loves are carnal. I think you kept that letter for a long time…and I think it's a poor substitute for the brother you threw away. But that's a penance you'll need to pay, not Van Helsing." The friar's blue eyes dropped then to his hand that rested on the smooth plane of the door and he wondered at how steady it seemed. "I will talk to Van Helsing, but what he chooses to do after that is up to his own conscience."

Releasing his breath in _whoosh_, Carl pushed the doors open and gratefully escaped into the black hallway beyond. The crewhands were waiting outside and he almost welcomed their silent support as they urged him with implacable grips back to his cabin.

Van Helsing paced back and forth in the narrow confines of the tiny cabin, feeling each step with a claustrophobic hatred. He'd been pushed aside and then left behind when the crewmen took Carl. There are been no questions nor any attempt to take his side of the story. He had no idea what was happening to the friar nor why they had taken Carl instead of him. No amount of shouting or pounding on the door brought any reply; ultimately he was helpless to do anything else but wait until someone came to inform him.

Pushing his hands through his hair, the hunter looked to the porthole and the fading light that marked the passage of time. Too much time. With an effort, he forced himself to pause and close his eyes. He replayed his run-in with Sebastian minutely, listening and watching for any minor clue as to the man's intentions. His thoughts kept revolving, endlessly, back to the crumpled letter in his hand. The old paper was soft to the touch with years of repeated readings; he could easily envision Sebastian huddled over the parchment, letting the words sear and brand his memory. Perhaps over the years, his shame for his brother had turned into hatred for the hunter. But if that were the case, why save him from his fall?

In an attempt to distract himself from the endless repetition of his worried thoughts, he concentrated on lighting the single lamp. The intricacies of coaxing the damp wick to take flame proved woefully inadequate to the task--his mind grimly insisted upon supplying gruesome images of what might possibly be happening to Carl, each one more disturbing than the next. Van Helsing shook his head, growling deep within his chest. He had no illusions that Carl's friarly station would dissuade the smuggler from warped retribution if Sebastian's tortured mind fancied Carl in some way shared the blame for his pain.

Angrily, Van Helsing struck out at the wall in passing; hearing the harsh cracking sound of the blow did nothing to calm his anger. Rather than this little room and a senseless wait, he would rather face a dozen armed men. At least then he'd know what was expected.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching halted the hunter's pacing; drawing in a deep breath, he turned, arms folded across his chest, to wait.

The door opened with a rusty squeal and the hunter blinked at the stronger light without; he started forward only to fall back as Carl stumbled through the opening to collide with him. Unprepared for the friar's weight, the hunter fell back awkwardly, crashing into the small built-in washstand. He heard the pitcher and basin crash to the floor and the friar's startled oaths; with Carl's weight on his chest, he only caught a glimpse of a dark figure in the hallway before the door closed and was relocked.

The friar was making determined headway toward getting off the hunter and gaining as much distance as possible. This included his scrambling up and back against the far wall, crossing his arms about his chest in a vice-like hug.

Still lying sprawled on the floor, the hunter blinked, his eyes narrowing as a plethora of ugly suspicions raised their heads. Disregarding a host of new aches and pains, he levered himself up and rose to his feet, his eyes automatically going to the friar's

Carl was chewing his bottom lip, his blond head ducked down until it almost disappeared between his shoulders. When Van Helsing's gaze met his own, his lips quirked in a sickly grimace as he attempted a nonchalant smile.

"Ah…sorry about plowing into you like that…I wasn't really given any other option."

"Yes. I could see that," Van Helsing agreed as his gaze ran over as much of the friar's face as he could see. "Did they hurt you?"

"Hurt…oh, no. Nono. Nothing like that. Just a lot of talk, really. Sebastian chatted with me, told me he didn't want you poking about in this attempt on the Captain."

"I see. And what did you say to that?" The hunter moved forward, slowly raising his elbow to settle it gently on the top bunk. His eyebrows dropped and his lips thinned as he saw the friar shrug and, if possible, draw more tightly into himself. He was surprised he couldn't hear Carl's ribs creak as his arms tightened about himself.

"Oh, just that I didn't really have a say in what you chose to investigate and that he should speak to you."

"Mm hmm. What else did he say, Carl?"

"Nothing. Nothing to speak of really," Carl assured him earnestly. His manner faltered as the hunter continued to watch him silently. "Ah…well…he, uh, spoke of the letter he gave you. Seemed a bit bitter about that, actually."

"A bit…" the hunter shook his head. "And he took that bitterness out on you? Did he make suggestions about you and I? Like Pollidory?"

A sigh seemed to heave itself up from the depths of the friar's soul as he shrugged. "Yes, well, he could hardly pass that up, could he?"

Van Helsing's head dropped as he closed his eyes. "No, I don't suppose he could. I'm sorry, Carl."

"It's not your fault." The friar's voice had assumed a warmer tone that brought up the hunter's head. The blue eyes that met his had a determined friendliness to them that opened a distance between the friends more surely than mere miles.

"Carl…"

"As you said, it's past history. I think we should concentrate on what he said about the Captain. Apparently he's in charge of the boat and her crew. That places him in a position to make trouble for us, especially you."

The hunter sighed as he straightened, his arms dropping to his sides. "I'll keep that in mind. At this point, locked in this room, our options for action are pretty low."

Moving away from the bunks, the hunter went to the porthole, peering through the smudged glass with lowered brows for several moments.

Carl took the opportunity to spring at the bunks, rapidly climbing up to the top bunk. Once achieving his goal, he seemed to relax. Allowing curiosity to take the fore, he strained forward, attempting to peer over the hunter's shoulder while remaining on his bunk. After a few seconds he gave it up, instead asking, "What do you see?"

"Not much. We should be approaching Gibraltar. It's the last land we'll see before setting out over the ocean. There is an inspection station there…they'll know the captain. Once they find out he's incommunicado, they'll likely come on board. That will be our chance."

"Chance?" Carl breathed, forgetting himself enough to uncurl, dropping his feet over the edge of the bunk. "You're going to do something drastic, aren't you."

Van Helsing's eyes slid toward the friar as one eyebrow rose. "It's what I do, Carl. Don't tell me you didn't know?"

"Ha ha. Very amusing. If you do something drastic, it will draw suspicion If anyone recognizes you…."

This time Van Helsing turned around to lean back against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest. "I imagine Sebastian is banking on that. If we take the initiative when it presents itself, it's possible we can steer things our way, at least until I can disappear."

"But…but he said he wanted to avoid an investigation…"

"That's not going to happen. Nothing will stop the authorities from seeing the captain isn't at the helm. He knows that. The only way Sebastian can stop an investigation is hand the authorities the would-be murderer in chains. With my face on wanted posters all over Europe, it's not likely they'll argue I'm their man. Once I'm taken off ship, he can continue on, and handle his own investigation without any worries from me."

"But it doesn't make sense. Why the charade with me then? Why demand that you don't look into it if you'll never get the chance?"

"Carl…"

A sound from outside the door stopped them. In the next instant, the door burst open and a flood of masked men poured into the room.

Van Helsing fought the hands that caught at him, feeling his blows hit solidly as grunts and moans of pain assured him they were having an effect. Still, for every assailant that dropped, another took his place. Against his will, the hunter was dragged from the room and out into the causeway.

Behind him Carl was yanked down from the upper bunk and unceremoniously thrust after.

The hall was dark and close, fetid with the odor of too many sweating bodies and the dark cloying humidity of the water soaked wood. In a tight heaving knot, the men and their prisoners pushed their way through the darkness

More time had passed in the world outside their prison than they had realized, when they burst out onto the deck it was twilight going on to full dark. Carl could make out the struggling forms of the hunter and his captors ahead but not much else. Certainly he heard their struggles though. Judging by the swear words, the hunter wasn't holding any punches back. Oddly, his own body barely obeyed his commands to maintain the stumbling trot his captors demanded. His mind seemed to be wrapped in a haze of hopeless befuddlement that not even the slap of the cold harsh wind could push aside.

He registered that they were traveling down the deck, toward the rear of the boat; and then he saw another set of men emerge from the darkness and they too were supporting a stumbling struggling man. He barely had time to register this unexpected sight when suddenly he found himself airborne.

A raw grating scream wrenched itself from his throat as he realized he'd cleared the railing and was rapidly falling toward the heaving ocean.

tbc


End file.
